


I Met A Bear Today

by DocWalrus



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Danger, Drama, Gen, Horror, Psychological, Self-Destruction, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DocWalrus/pseuds/DocWalrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Schmidt's best friends have been throwing their lives at self-destructive habits for years. Mike struggles to help them find a better way, but he has his own secret obsession to hide; his job as Hell's security guard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where Fun Comes To Life

**I Met A Bear Today**

**Chapter One**

The clock had just struck noon and Freddy's Pizza was a buzzing storm of squawking children, obnoxious music, and fake enthusiasm. A slim, short-haired young man in his early twenties stood in the corner. Mike Schmidt scanned the room from the corner that he fidgeted in next to the entrance to the back of the shop. He was an arrogant man; he felt superior to the vapid people surrounding him, and entertained himself by watching them.

The dining room in front of him was wide with a high roof, easily fitting fifty or so shrieking brats and accidents at six long tables. The children's rabid chattering polluted the room with the same intensity as the stench of the cheap pizza littering the tables. The pizza's aroma struck Mike; it smelled like pepperoni-flavored cat food. The little creatures' parents mingled by walls painted with an alternating sequence of too-dark blue and too-bright red, matching the ugly checkered tile on the floor. After a moment's analysis, Mike estimated that the crowd of mothers by the blue wall was 15% MILFier than the red walls. _I have a a new favorite color_ , the jackass thought to himself. 

Time, clearly, was passing slowly for him as he waited for the shift lead to return from the manager's office. He continued scanning the room, internally mocking everything he could notice about his tacky surroundings. At the north side of the room was a large, oddly decorated stage with a natural-colored wooden wall behind it. The background of the stage was covered with a small, gray brick wall and dull white clouds-- oddly colorless compared to the rest of the room. This created an odd contrast between the stage and the vibrant characters playing a high-pitched, tinkly imitation of music on it.

Freddie Fazbear, the star of the show, stood front and center on the stage. It clutched an oversized microphone in its right hand. Its face was a lumpy, moth-bitten compromise between a humanoid head and an accurate depiction of a bear. It had a big, black bow-tie under its chin, and its head was capped by a comically small top hat. Freddy towered at a height of at least seven feet tall, and its mouth hung open wide enough to show a row of huge, almost-white teeth. Dull iron gears and servos could be seen at the bear's joints, poking out from beneath the matted fur.

To the right of the titular bear was Chica, the chicken and apparent fat grandmother niche of the band. It was more stout than the band's leader, clocking in at maybe 6'5''. It wore a big, dirty white bib with the words “LET'S EAT!” emblazoned on it in yellow letters with a purple outline. Its face was more chicken than human, aside from the row of unsettling metal teeth in its wide beak. Chica's mouth gaped even wider than Freddy's and it had the wild eyes of something that's looking to eat something _much different_ than the pizza it was hawking to toddlers.

On the other side of Freddy was the band's guitarist, Bonnie. Bonnie looked like an accurate depiction of Bonzie Buddy after that poor, fat son of a bitch cracked open the Necronomicon. Purple-furred and probably meant to be a rabbit, Bonnie's tall ears seemed to make it tower over even Fazbear itself. It had sleepy, half-cracked eyes made even stranger by its lack of eyebrows. Its face was oddly shaped, with a bloated snout and a jaw that bent awkwardly in the middle. It held a hilarious electric guitar ripped straight from the 80's. Considering the color and innate  _wrongness_ of the machine clutching it, Mike mused that the guitar must be haunted by a hooker Prince killed and mutates any who wield it.

Scanning the crowd again, Mike noticed more than a few parents showing obvious discomfort when they looked at the abominations. The children were ecstatic to be around such aberrations; but pizza could warp any child's judgment. There seemed to be few adults who could relate.

Mike's disdainful review of everything around him was cut short when the shift lead, Arianna, returned from the office. “So the GM is really busy right now; I asked him about your application when he got off the phone and he said, 'He's hired, go away!' … So, uh, welcome to the team, Mike! I'll show you to your office.”

Arianna led Mike through the cramped and narrow hallways that composed the employees-only section of Freddy's Pizza. Being the single-minded, self-satisfied man that he was, Mike paid more attention to the shift lead than he did to his surroundings. She was Hispanic with a slim, petite figure and spotless skin. She had long, dark hair and a presence that suggested she was older than she looked. Mike tried to focus on the conversation as they walked to the security room.

“So, I was kind of surprised when I saw you!” Arianna chuckled. “Mike Schmidt is a super white-sounding name.” Mike gave her the polite laugh of someone who's heard a line too many times.

He said, “I guess my parents thought there were enough Mexicans named Christian running around.” She chuckled at that as she led him into the back room.

Back room? Scratch that, this is Dr. Seuss' vision of hell. Eyeless, disembodied spare heads of the Fazbear Band's members littered the room, angled just right to give them a great view of whatever unprepared newbie gets lured into the room. Mike made eye contact with a Freddy head leaning sideways on a table; it was one of the few heads featuring the glassy eyes of a cold machine. Breaking contact with that horror, he noticed a metal skeleton sitting face-up on a table in the middle of the room.

The animatronic endoskeleton was very narrow with jagged edges and a rectangular face. It sat quietly on a large table, facing the wall away from Mike. Still absent-mindedly following Arianna through the shop, Mike made it through Robot Hell and found himself in his near-future workspace: the Security Office. It wasn't even the size of the average cubicle, cramped enough for one occupant to get claustrophobic. With Arianna sharing the room with him, Mike felt smothered.

The shift lead listed the features of the room for him: A small shelf on the wall covered with Freddy's Pizza merchandise and a small fan; an unplugged gas-powered generator under that shelf; and a desk in the center of the room. The desk held a bulky off-white colored monitor connected to a desktop computer sitting on the floor, which was unpowered. Next to it was a matte black, 90's era phone. On the walls were four buttons: Each side had a red button labeled “DOOR,” and a blue button labeled “LIGHT.”

Arianna didn't offer much of an explanation. “So, this is your office!” She said with a friendly amount of false enthusiasm. “Once you come in for work tonight, You'll hear a message from our last security guard. He'll show you the ropes and all that. Your uniform will be a pair of black slacks,  _not jeans_ , a Freddy's Pizza shirt, and a Freddy's Pizza hat. What size shirt do you want?” Mike asked for a size S and followed Arianna back through Robot Hell, then a quiet room with a purple curtain draped over it, and several hallways until they arrived in the dining room. “Okay, Mr. Schmidt, I'll be right back.” Mike returned to his former pastime of scanning the room. He glanced at the kids and parents, re-confirmed his conclusions regarding the blue wall, and then glanced at the stage.

He felt a small chill run down his spine. Bonnie and Chica kept singing, facing the crowd; but Freddy Fazbear looked to the side, staring straight into Mike's eyes. With a sluggish animatronic eyelid, he winked.

 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

 

Midnight came slowly, giving Mike time to savor the feeling of uncertainty. He returned to Freddy's Pizza right on time at 11:30 PM. He had time to pull on his tacky new uniform, watch every single person except himself leave the property, and get himself situated in the tiny Security Office by the time the clock struck midnight.

The room smelled like it was made entirely of dust. Mike flicked through the camera feeds displayed on his monitor to distract himself from the smell, getting a feel for the shop's layout. His nose tingled, and he resisted the urge to sneeze; the dust had truly conquered this room, and it seemed like nobody felt like cleaning it. Mike occasionally glanced at the characters on the stage. They looked...  _different_ in the dark; his previously smug derision of the Fazbear band melted into vague anxiety. A few minutes after midnight, the phone rang. The phone's speakers answered the call before Mike even bothered to. He listened to the recorded message of a neurotic-sounding man.

“ _HELLO?_ Uh, hello? Uh, I wanted to record  a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you! I'm finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact.” The voice on the other end seemed to ramble, dragging what should be one sentence into three or four. Mike half-listened as he flicked through the cameras. “So I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I'm here to tell you: there's nothing to be worried about! Uh, you'll be fine, so let's just focus on getting you through your first night, okay? Uh, let's see... First there's an introductory greeting from the company that I'm supposed to read, eh, it's kind of a legal thing. You know.”

The voice on the other end droned on with a corporate-filtered paragraph of nonsense. The cameras weren't much of a distraction; Freddy's Pizza was dark and lifeless. Mike noted that the stains on the wall almost looked like blood at night; When contrasted with the children's crayon drawings tacked on the wall next to the stains, it gave the pizzeria a not-quite-welcoming atmosphere.

The voice on the phone– which did not seem interested in giving himself a name– finished its corporate-mandated recital and continued to ramble on. “Now it _might_ sound bad, I know, but there's really nothing to worry about. Uh, the animatronic characters here do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? _No!_ If I were forced to sing those same stupid songs for 20 years, and I never got a bath? I'd probably be a bit irritable at night too. So remember: these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children, and we need to show them a little respect, right? Okay. So just be aware; the characters do tend to wander a bit.”

That line got Mike's attention. He checked the stage camera; the Fazbear band sat in their seats, lifeless. Still paranoid, Mike checked lights outside his office. The lights flickered on in the break room to his left, just outside the doorway; The only object he noticed was a coffee machine with a stained, empty pot. It seemed to be neither mobile nor menacing. Mike released the light switch, leaving the coffee pot to its business. Checking to the right, Mike saw a storage room; metal shelves housed neatly-organized stacks of cardboard boxes containing printer papers, ink cartridges, cooking utilities, et cetera. The recording still, persistently continued.

“Uh, they're left in some kind of 'free-roaming' mode at night, uh, something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long. Uh, they used to be able to walk around during the day, too, but then there was “ _The Bite of '87._ ” Yeah. It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?” Mike did not have a response to that.

Nameless Phone Guy kept on talking in between his frequent nervous stutters. “Uh, now, concerning your safety: The only real risk to you as a night watchman here, _if any_ , is the fact that these characters, uh, if they happen to see you after hours... probably won't recognize you as a person. They'll, uh... They'll most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on. Now, since that's against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, they'll probably try to uh... forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit.”

“Um, now that wouldn't be so bad... If the suits themselves weren't filled with cross-beams, wiring, and animatronic devices– especially around the facial area. So you can imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of... Discomfort... And death. Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth that would pop out the front of the mask. Yeah, they don't tell you these things when you sign up.”

“But hey! First day should be a breeze. I'll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright. Good night.”

The recording ended, and Mike was left alone in a cramped, silent room. Plenty of new, uncomfortable thoughts filled his mind. He squirmed in his chair, but didn't get up; no point leaving the Panic Room when there's killer robots outside. An LED display on the top of the generator in the corner displayed '80%.' Looking at the monitor, he saw a faded clock in the bottom right corner that said '1:08 AM.'  _ Alright _ , he thought,  _ I've got 4/5ths power left when I'm 1/ _ _6th_ _ through my shift. Just have to make that last 'til 6 AM and I'm good to go _ .

Remembering Phone Guy's warning that the Fazbear band kills on sight, however, motivated Mike to check the cameras one more time _. _ He observed the stage camera again, seeing Freddy and Chica sitting still in their proper places.

Bonnie, however, was gone.

_ That ain't right.  _ Mike switched to the camera nearest to the stage; the Dining Room. A tall, purple object stood motionless in the center of the room. Its wide, glassy eyes shone bright in the dark as it stared directly into the camera. No,  _ through _ the camera, and directly into Mike's eyes. He couldn't help but stare back, too shocked to react, until the camera feed went dark.

Flicking from one camera to another, Mike saw that every feed had been engulfed by static at the same time. The generator was at 77% power, he saw; the cameras should certainly be on. He hesitated, debating the use of electricity on cameras that don't seem to even work, before he checked the feed again. The cameras worked again! The dining room, however, was empty. Mike found Bonnie in the Broom Closet, two cameras away from him. The purple bunny-thing did not look at the camera above it. Instead, it seemed to stare directly at the Security Office ahead of it.

Mike glanced away from the camera feed for just a moment to get a few ' _Oh god, oh fuck_ 's out of his system. Looking back, he saw a dark camera feed begin to function again as he looked at the now-empty Broom Closet. Scanning again, he found Bonnie standing right outside the break room. It still faced the Office, but it stared at the camera from the corner of its eye. Mike reached to his left and checked the lights again. The coffee machine greeted him, undisturbed. He released the lights, took a moment to breathe, and checked them again a moment later.

Bonnie was a mountain dominating Mike's vision. The ragged, shaggy texture of its fur was clearly visible in the blue light of the break room, and shook slightly. In fact, all of Bonnie's mass seemed to quiver with excitement as it towered over Mike. Its eyes shone like two near-set flashlights with black, soulless pupils. Mike's hand was shaking with such intensity that it took him two attempts to press the large, red DOOR button on the left wall. Bonnie lunged as the button lit up.

_ SLAM.  _ The sound of the leviathan crashing into a 6-inch thick steel security door was nearly deafening, sending echos through the entire building. Mike let several seconds worth of halted breath burst out of his mouth in a gasp. He released another series of ' _ Oh god, oh fuck _ 's and checked the clock: 2:16 AM.  _ I just _ _ got here _ , he thought.  _ This is just the beginning. _

Checking the light again, Mike saw the shadow of the creature outside the door. He glanced at the generator; 72%. Keeping the door closed seemed to devour electricity. Mike held still for a moment before checking the cameras again. Bonnie had retreated to the broom closet; maybe, just  _ maybe _ , it would keep retreating. Checking the back stage again, Mike saw Freddie Fazbear sitting motionless in its proper place. Chica the Chicken, however, was missing.

It had made its way to the bathrooms on the right side of the dining room. Chica stared through the camera at Mike with the same wild, hungry eyes that he had chuckled at earlier. The robot's mouth twitched up and down erratically. Mike checked the lights on his left again, verified that Bonnie was gone, and reluctantly opened the security door again.

The good news was that Bonnie had returned to the dining room. It continued staring into the camera; there was a strange glint in its eye. The bad news was that Chica had moved again. Mike flicked from camera to camera until he was connected to the kitchen's feed. The screen was black; A note in the corner said “Audio only.” The noises that the camera picked up implied that Chica was either having a complicated late-night snack or trashing a china shop. Bangs, rattles and crashes rang out over the camera's audio feed. Mike shut off the cameras and listened to the noise from his room, regularly telling himself that he's  _ going to make it, god dammit _ .

The generator displayed a lime green “60%” on its display. Mike glared at the number as it ticked to “59%,” then “58%,” then the noise in the kitchen stopped. He checked the right-side light first; it was an empty storage room full of neatly organized brown boxes on metal shelves. Checking the light on his left, Mike saw the familiar face of a purple-furred demon. Shutting the security door on the first try this time, he noticed a pattering of footsteps accompanying the loud crashing sound of the door hitting the floor. He closed the doors on the right before checking the storage room light; Chica stared through the window, with a ravenous look in her bulging eyes.

On the monitor, the clock showed 4:30 AM.  _ Almost, sort of close to the end, _ a small man thought to himself. The cameras showed an undisturbed Freddy Fazbear on the backstage, a dopey-eyed Bonnie in the dining room, and a frustrated-looking Chica outside the bathrooms. Mike double-checked the lights and opened both doors, ending the massive drain on the generator. The display showed 37%-- Closing both doors seemed to be devastating to the power supply. Flicking to the cameras a moment later, Mike saw a new face; It looked like  _ a cat? A wolf? Maybe a fox? _

In the “Pirate Cove” room, squirreled away in the corner of the building, an angular and pointed face glared at Mike. It had sharp, triangular teeth, some of which seemed more discolored that others in the grainy video feed. It peeked out from star-patterned curtains, behind a small sign that said “SORRY! Out of order!” Mike knew better than to stare too long. He checked elsewhere.

Bonnie and Chica were still mobile, but they weren't dangerously close. Chica was wandering through the dining room while Bonnie stuffed itself back into the broom closet. Freddie and the fox were still holding position. Glancing over the monitor once more, he saw the display read 24%. The clock read 5:14. Mike exhaled, gathered himself and got back on the camera feed. Things were almost calm for some time; Bonnie returned to the dining room, knocking over chairs as he stumbled about, and Chica went back to destroying the kitchen. The generator was at 12% now, largely due to Mike's new compulsion to check the lights every five or so seconds.

Suddenly, the cameras went dark again. When they reactivated, neither Bonnie nor Chica could be seen or heard in any room. Mike slammed both doors in a desperate panic and heard Bonnie crash into the door again. Checking the storage room light, Mike made eye contact with Chica once more. She scraped her metal teeth against the reinforced glass, splitting Mike's ears with a screech like nails on a chalkboard. The light dimmed and the cameras flickered a moment later, as the cameras hit 5%.

The light in the break room showed that Bonnie was gone; the security door burst back upward soon after. Checking the storage room light again, Mike saw that Chica was more patient. Power: 1%. Power: 0%. The lights died, turning to a dull orange color that slowly faded to black. The electromagnetic door opened.

A desperate maelstrom of curses, pleas, and empty threats spilled from Mike's mouth in bursts of stuttering, quivering panic. In just a second, a massive fur-lined silhouette was close enough to be easily visible in the darkness. A moment later, the silence was broken by an alarm clock

As the daytime power circuit reactivated, bright lights blinked on throughout Freddy's Pizza. The warped face above Mike was illuminated in an instant. He felt shaggy synthetic fur brushing against his knee. He could not convince his shaking limbs to act; he could only watch the monster towering above him. After a long, long second of silent contempt, Chica's shoulders and wide eyes drooped down. Its mouth pulled itself shut into a tight scowl. She stared at the soft, tiny thing in front of her for a moment longer, then turned and left.

Mike stayed motionless for what seemed like an eternity. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that the re-lit clock face read 6:12 AM. A solid ten minutes later, Mike ventured back through the building to the Dining Room. The opening crew was there, sluggishly restocking shelves and setting tables.

The Fazbear Band was back on stage, repeating the motions of their daytime performance without playing the recorded music. In the music's absence, the whirring and buzzing of animatronic mechanisms filled the room. Mike found a man in uniform smoking a Pall Mall outside. “Hey. Give me a fucking square, man.”

Mike might have blinked three times while driving back to his apartment. Each time, the fuzzy blackness behind his eyelids was interrupted with the image of Chica's scowling face.  _ Gonna take something strong to get to bed _ ; Mike half-thought and half-mumbled that as he pulled into a parking spot. Looking up, he saw the lights shining through his living room window. He knew for a fact they were off when he had left last night. The trek up to his second-floor apartment was not hasty.

Slowly, timidly, Mike peeled open the front door. Seeing the figure sipping coffee on the couch, he relaxed. A slim, pale woman with frizzy black hair sat on the couch in the corner. She sipped from a cloudy gray coffee mug and returned Mike's stare, expressionless. Mike closed the door behind him, yawning, and asked his best friend: “More fun with your boyfriend, huh?”

Allison Carson mumbled an explanation into her coffee. “He's just stressed out. I needed to get away for a little bit.” After another sip, she looked up at the Freddy's Pizza logo on Mike's hat. Her tone changed from groggy moping to mild excitement. “Oh, last night was _that_ night! How was work? What's the place like at night?” Mike responded with a quaking voice that was loud enough to shake the walls and repel birds from the trees outside. “ **Hey, Thanks for asking, Allie! Let's fucking talk about it.** ”

 


	2. Day in the Life of a Madman

**I Met A Bear Today**

**Chapter 2**

Mike rolled out of bed just before 4 PM and stumbled into the living room. Allie was still splayed across the couch, groaning quietly as she began to wake up. In the kitchen connected to the living room, Mike found a full pot of cold, burnt coffee; it wasn't uncommon for him to start a pot, then immediately fall asleep. The pot sat next to the last half of a bottle of Jameson. _Breakfast's ready,_ a hung over man thought _._ He poured two cups of 3 parts awful coffee, 1 part decent whiskey and drank his way back to the couch. Allie was back amongst the living, and mumbled a, “Thanks,” as she took her cup. She took a gulp and nearly recoiled off the couch. “Not everything has to have hard liquor in it, man.”

“Well,” Mike said, “At least this'll liven us the hell up.” Allie sluggishly nodded to that.

She handled the second sip better, barely. “So you were full of shit this morning, right? Completely chock full of bullshit? Killer robots and all that?” Mike groaned, bringing a hand to his forehead. _God, that WAS real, wasn't it?_ He reassured his equally hung over best friend that his first night at Freddy's Pizza was, in fact, a tour of hell and went on to explain the finer details of the night's end.

“When the lights finally came on and Chica was _right the fuck there_ ,it had this... just, this evil glare on its face. Like it knew how close it was to chewing my skull open and wanted it _so bad._ ” Mike took a gulp of his breakfast and handled it better than Allie; this awful lifestyle wasn't new to him. “I don't know why she backed off just because the clock hit 6, though. It's not like its programming had much control over how she was acting.”

Ding! An alert sounded from the phone in Allie's jacket on the floor. She set down her half-finished cup of suffering and stood up. “Is it a She or an It? You were going back and forth earlier, too.” She pointed out, then stretched her arms out in a long yawn. She continued while she put her shoes and jacket on: “Like, let's try not to humanize the evil can openers. The _man_ openers? Oh, lord.” She shuffled to the door and leaned back to look at Mike. “Jonny just got here. Want to walk me to the car?” Mike shook his head. “Take care of yourself, Allie.” She paused in the doorway for a moment. “He's not a bad guy, Mike. I promise. See you.”

With his company gone, Mike finished breakfast and staggered back to his bedroom. _Time to start the “Day Job.”_ He cracked open a secret compartment in his closet and pulled out its contents. In front of him was a full suite of tools and ingredients, everything a degenerate would need to cook bathtub-quality MDMA. Mike wasn't a fan of the drug; he knew what went into it, and he knew the dangerous corners other cooks cut to save money. Despite that, he was a natural chemist. The rave drug business had kept his head above water since high school.

The latest batch was almost finished; he just needed to let it cook and keep an eye on it for a couple hours before it was ready to be converted to powder and stuffed into pill casings. Once everything was set up Mike flicked on the TV in the corner. He immediately turned it off; _Night at the Museum_ was the last thing he wanted to see right now.

He had taken the job at Freddy's Pizza as a front. There was too much dirty money coming in, and he needed a way to clean it all. Mike grabbed his laptop and got to work on his other front; writing paid reviews for unpopular businesses. He started off by writing glowing reviews for the nearby Vietnamese dive Pho King Noodles under fifteen different names, then moved on to singing praise about a chain of pawn shops on Yelp!.

He was paid next to nothing per review, but just like Freddy's the legal paperwork was half-assed enough for him to claim as much income as he wanted. One small tax filing at a time, his stash of ~$75,000 in drug money was going legit. Mike was starting to transition out of the home-brewed stimulant business; too many other people were being taken down, and he had made _almost_ all the money he'd ever want from it. He kept working until around 6 PM, when there was a rhythmic knock at the door.

Mike checked the peephole and opened the door; his two “Business associates” filed into the ratty apartment. Paul was the tall one; a pseudo-friendly face on top of a tower of muscle. He had black hair cut short, just barely longer than a buzz cut. Neil was a few inches shorter than him. Blonde and lanky, He sagged downward with shoulders hung low and less energy in his face and movement. Mike led them to his room: “Gentlemen, if you would step into my office... It'll be done in a few minutes, then you assholes get to go on pill duty. Where's this all going?”

Paul was quick to answer. “Joyfest starts tomorrow, then we've got Craze going all weekend. After that we can sell off the leftovers to whoever's hanging around Hummus Palace and Whiskey Dix next week. It's not usually this easy.”

Mike nods along and the three make small talk. Eventually, Neil brought the big question up: “So what happened last night? Do the animatronic things get up and kill kids at night, or what?”

Mike laughed; it was a hollow noise. “Something like that. They played a training tape for me when I got there and the guy in the recording was just like, 'Welcome to Freddy's, Mike! These motherfuckers are going to kill you.'” The two dealers laughed at that while they pilled the new batch. Mike played along and pretended he wasn't serious. “Real excited to go back there tonight. Real, real excited.”

Neil laughed again and said, “Man, fuck that. Even if they're just turned off in the corner all night, I don't want to be around it. Never liked that Chuck E. Cheese shit.” At about 7 PM the process was finished. Paul handed over $2,000 and threw his half of the product into two black wine jugs.

Mike spoke up as Paul turned to leave: “Hey, do you still have those flasks with you? Like, the two silver ones with wolves or some dumb shit on them? I need those.”

Paul's eyes drifted up and into the corner as he thought for a moment. “I think they're in my car, I'll find 'em. What do you need them for?”

Mike gave him a mostly-convincing smile and said: “Just need something to get me through the shift tonight.” Paul laughed and walked out the door.

After Paul left, Neil stood up to gather up his share. He yawned, stretching his arms, as he got up from the floor. His shirt drifted up with the motion, and Mike noticed a dark red gash on Neil's hip. “Stop.” He was in Neil's face in a split second. “Someone steal your fucking kidney or what, man?” He pulled up the side of Neil's T-Shirt.

“Relax, boss. It's not what it looks like; I just took a spill a couple days ago.”Neil stuttered as he made excuses. Mike checked out the wound: About three quarters of an inch wide, and about a foot long. The cut went halfway up Neil's ribs. “Right, yeah. You tripped and fell on a fucking machete. What the shit, Neil?”

Neil backed away, waving his hands. He sounded indignant. “It was just an _accident_ , Mike! Stop flipping out! Look, here's the money, let me-” Mike slapped nearly a full ounce of bundled $100 bills out of his hand.

“Fuck you, Neil. You're having one of your goddamn phases again. You're gonna end up rolling on half of this shit yourself while you fucking hack yourself up some more, then cut the rest with some QoL serotonin bullshit and tell people 'it's a better roll like this.' We're not doing this again.” Mike glared up at him, furious. “Take your money and get out. Get help. I'm not gonna let you pull any more of this shit.”

Neil glared at him, but he knew he couldn't do anything. He grabbed the roll of cash off the floor and stomped out. Paul ducked out of his way as he came back into the room. “What was that about?”

Mike didn't look at him when he answered. “Neil's cutting again.” Paul's shoulders sagged and he dropped himself on the bed next to where Mike had flopped down.

“I don't know what to do with him, man,” Paul said. “I never do.” He stared hard at the blank wall in front of him. He was motionless; Mike had learned by now that Paul nearly became a statue when he got emotional. It kept the rage and helplessness from escaping.

Mike sighed. “We're smart, we'll think of something. I mean, we're the only people who can work this out with him.”

Paul laughed; thinly veiled anger contaminated the sound. “I didn't get into this job for responsibilities like this, man.” He pulled out two silver flasks and tossed them on the bed. “There. I gotta go. Good luck with the terminators tonight.” Mike bumped the gigantic man's fist and watched him leave. The apartment was deathly silent once again. A nervous man, still upset about his troubled friend, was stuck in a dirty bedroom with nothing but bad thoughts to keep him company.

Hours passed. Errands were run; things were done. Mike got on the road at 10:30 PM. The chill in his bones was a blend of arrogant confidence for the night ahead, and apprehension about returning to hell. _Why the fuck are you going back there? Do you just feel like it's a luxury, knowing how and where you're going to die? Even while you're letting it happen?_

The road went by quietly; there was no traffic to challenge his advance. Mike rallied his courage. _You know how it works this time. You know you can win._

He burned a path down the road headed to Freddy's Pizzeria, Where Fun Comes To Life. The car radio played on the local top 40 station, offering background noise to Mike's thoughts. One Republic's new hit rang through the car: “ _♫ Everything that kills me... makes me feel alive. ♫”_

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Mike got to work a bit early; the closing shift was still well into the task of getting everything ready for the next day. The new security guard walked up to the shift lead, Arianna, and made small talk to pass the time. After the conversation had gone on for a minute or two, Mike asked: “So how much do you know about the night security position?”

She seemed confused by the question. “I mean, you just watch the cameras and make sure nobody breaks in, right?” She asked. Mike explained, in very watered down terms, what had happened the last night.

Arianna squeaked out a nervous laugh. “Oh, man. I would have been so freaked out! Like, what if they got into the room with you?” Mike imitated a laugh, making sure that the noise was noticeably fake. “Exactly! It's pretty creepy stuff. Definitely not dreading tonight's shift or anything. Of course not,” Mike responded. Arianna giggled again, and wished him luck on his shift.

_She's playing dumb._ Mike brooded as he moved towards the stage, where the Fazbear band followed their standard animations. The music was turned off when the shop closed at 10, and the uncovered noise of animatronic gears whirring and buzzing filled the room. It seemed that everyone else here had learned to tune it out. Mike looked at Chica, who bounced back and forth pretending to sing. “I hope you guys missed me as much as I missed you!” He said, with contempt trickling into every word. The Fazbear band ignored him.

By the time that the clock struck midnight, Mike was in his chair in the security room. He was afraid, of course; but he kept his cool. He stared at the generator's display. A moment after the screen changed to '99%,' the phone rang and the next recording began.

Phone guy started his ramble: “Uh, hello? Hello? Uh, well, if you're hearing this, you made it to night two! Um, congrats! I won't talk for quite as long this time, since Freddy and his friends become more active as the week progresses. Uh, it might be a good idea to peek at those cameras while I talk, just to make sure everyone's in their proper place.”

_Can't fuck with a suggestion like that_. Mike flicked through the camera feeds; the Fazbear band was still on stage, getting ready for their nightly entertainment. Mike then remembered the strange, angular face he saw last night, and checked the Pirate Cove. The purple, star-spangled curtains there were snugly closed. Power: 96%.

“So, interestingly enough, Freddy himself doesn't come off stage very often. I've heard he becomes a lot more active in the dark, though, so hey! I guess that's one more reason to not run out of power, right? I also want to emphasize the importance of using your door lights. There are blind spots in your camera view, and those blind spots happen to be _right_ outside of your doors. So if you can’t find something... or someone... on your cameras, be sure to check the door lights. You might only have a few seconds to react,” Phone Guy continued.

Mike checked the cameras again, making sure not to waste time by watching cameras other than the Stage and the Dining Room. His plan seemed to work: Chica had vanished from the stage, and her silhouette was visible in the corner of the Dining Room's feed. Mike backed away from the cameras, stressed but not terrified. It was too soon for that. The Dining Room is on the other side of the building, after all, and this time he knew that they would roam. He certainly didn't look forward to peering into Chica's malevolent jaws again, however. The recording continued.

“... Not that you would be in any danger, of course! I'm not implying that. Also, check on the curtains in Pirate Cove from time to time. The character in there seems to be unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time. I guess he doesn't like to be watched? I don’t know. Anyway, I'm sure you have everything under control! Um, talk to you soon.”

_Shit_. Mike would have preferred to use the cameras in strict moderation, since they somehow used more power when the user switched from one to another. The system was poorly designed, to be sure. Nevertheless, the new security guard couldn't help but check. Bonnie was in the dining room now; the look on its face implied that it was excited to see Mike again. The machine's shining eyes once again seemed to pierce through the cameras to make eye contact with Mike. He quickly rolled his eyes. A moment passed, and Bonnie rolled his eyes in the same way. _Shit, shit, shit_. Chica was outside the bathrooms, on the east wing of the building. Closer than before, but not dangerously close. Freddie was, once again, resting at its usual spot on the stage. Mike then switched to the Pirate Cove, and made eye contact with the monster now peeking out from the curtains. The fox-thing looked back at the camera, but seemed to avoid Mike's gaze at the same time. Power: 88%. Time: 12:32 AM.

Three of these abominations were advancing toward Mike; things looked grim, but he had two aces up his sleeve. Mike shut both security doors to give himself some room to work, then unscrewed the cap on the gas-powered generator. He pulled out the first flask: Earlier that night, he had filled it with unleaded gasoline. He could keep the doors shut all night without worrying about power, easily. As he unscrewed the cap of the flask, though, there was a sharp knock on the window. The rapping sound was accompanied by tinkling music that reminded Mike of an old music box.

Startled, he flicked on the lights on the right wall. The storage room outside was revealed and _how the FUCK did Freddy cross the entire building that quickly?_ The massive bear peeked through the window; its eyes were dark, except for tiny white pupils shining through the dim lighting. He stared straight into Mike's soul. A lilting, singsong voice flowed out of Freddy's mouth: “Wait just a second there, _best friend_! We follow the rules here at Freddy's Pizza! Now, heck, if we didn't follow the rules, then good old Chica would have _ripped your disgusting skin_ _off_ after the clock hit six yesterday!”

Mike was paralyzed for a time, trapped staring into the tiny, piercing lights in the bear's eyes. After several moments he collected himself, shut the cap on the generator, stowed the flask, shut off the lights on the right, and briefly checked the lights on the left; all in the span of roughly three seconds.

The lights showed nothing. Checking on the right, he saw that Freddy had departed. Mike opened both doors and checked the cameras. The maelstrom of noise he heard implied that Chica was in the kitchen, not far away; Bonnie was once again in the dining room-- _was that a smirk?_ \-- Freddie was fast asleep in his normal roost, unmoving. The fox-thing still poked its head out from the curtains, but its gaze had fallen from the camera. Now, it stared into the hallway ahead of it. Power: 67%. Time: 1:03 AM; that 'flask' situation seemed to have left its mark on the power supply.

Mike left the camera, the lights, and the doors alone. For several minutes, he simply listened. He heard footsteps occasionally; they grew louder over time, but not loud enough to suggest that one of the characters was close to him. Minutes passed like days. The footsteps on the right side of the security room grew loud enough to be alarming, and Mike flicked the lights on; Chica peeked through the window, with wide eyes blasting malice toward him. The door slammed loudly. Mike reflexively checked the lights on the left; he saw nothing but his good friend, Empty Coffee Pot. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then his cell phone rang from his pocket.

He was quick to answer. Allie's voice erupted from the speaker: “Mikey! I'm bored as hell, what are you up to?” A moment passed before he answered. “Well, uh. I'm... I'm at work.” There was an awkward pause, then he heard Allie giggle. “Good stuff, Mike. So are you at your place, or what?”

Mike checked the storage room lights; after ensuring Chica had left, he released the door. A moment passed. He checked the cameras and saw Bonnie a single room away. Allie's voice burst out of the phone again: “You are _shitting_ me, Mike! Why the fuck would you go back there?”

Mike stuttered out a response. “I, I don't know, it just, it just kind of, like, drew me in. I want to... uh... figure this place out, I guess.” Allie was silent for a moment, but her rage could be felt through the phone's speaker. Mike tried to think of some kind of apology, or justification, or _something_ as he checked the light on the left.

Bonnie was _right there_ , and he had violence in his wide, shining eyes. Mike punched the “DOOR” button; the monster lunged through the doorway at the same time.

_SLAM!_ The door thrust itself down, pinning the rabbit's neck and arm in the threshold. Bonnie blasted an unthinkably terrible screech from its gaping steel mouth. The terrible sound went through clearly to Allie. “ _HOLY... FUCKING_ _ **SHIT**_ , WHAT THE _FUCK_ WAS THAT, MIKE?” The security guard recoiled away from the purple-furred abomination with such force that he accidentally flung his phone into the corner of the room. Mike composed himself after a moment, and weighed his options of dealing with the still-screeching monster.

Bonnie was trapped, but the door trapping it was making the generator hemorrhage electricity. The only way he could get rid of this terrible creature was to raise the door. Mike realized how much time had passed since Bonnie attacked, and reflexively checked the lights for the storage room. Chica was mercifully absent; perhaps she thought Bonnie could take the kill without her.

Mike had to make the call. After a moment, he pressed the “DOOR” button, then pressed it again. When the door released Bonnie, he lunged further into the security room. The demon still roared with its ear-splitting howl. The door returned, pinning him down again. Mike struck back, stomping on Bonnie's metal skull again and again and again. The screech was interrupted by each stomp, and it was less deafening after each counter-attack.

Mike had had enough. He screamed, “ **You fucking** _ **lost**_ **, Bonnie! Back off or I will stomp you into a** _ **fucking paste**_!” The screech reluctantly ended. After a long moment, Mike released the door. Bonnie pulled himself back into the break room and stood up; raising his head slightly, Mike met the monster's gaze. The door was open, the light was off. Bonnie growled, turned, and left.

Mike then spun around and checked the storage room again. Chica had arrived in time to see the end of the show; her bulging eyes were pressed against the window. Mike slammed the door; Chica was quick to leave. Power: 49%. Time: 2:48 AM.

Mike opened the door on the right and listened. No movement. Checking the cameras, Mike saw Chica in the dining room. Bonnie and Freddie were both at the stage, glaring at each other. Their jaws thrust up and down at each other in the silence of the camera feed. He began to relax; that confrontation was clearly the apex of the night. _Right? Of course it_ was. Mike pretended that things would go smoothly until 6. Before he disengaged from the cameras, he checked the hallway on the west wing of the building.

The fox-thing in the hallway wasn't standing and looking at the camera. It was _sprinting_ down the corridor, straight to the security room. Mike heard its awful screech even before he slammed the security door shut. He heard a loud _BANG_ against the door, and then silence. After a moment, that silence was broken by a cacophony of violence. The fox was digging through the door, and there was nothing Mike could do.Power: 39%. Time: 3:12 AM.

The sound of imminent death abruptly stopped. Mike held still, listening; he heard the sound of metal thrashing against metal fade away as someone dragged the rabid one away. When that noise had completely faded, Mike tried to release the door lock. His arm failed to respond, tightly clutching the side of his chair. On the third attempt, his arm reached for the door button. Power: 35%. Time: 3:14 AM.

Once again, Mike sat in the dark and listened to the footsteps. For what seemed to be a long time, nothing seemed to come close. He checked the cameras, first ensuring that the fox-thing was far away. The creature peeked its head out of the curtains again, and still avoided his gaze. Mike felt powerful.

Flicking between cameras, Mike found Chica two rooms away. As per usual, the chicken stared through the camera. Mike poked his tongue out at her; in response, she opened her jaws wide and spat out what appeared to be a human tongue. Mike recoiled away from the screen in horror, but returned after a moment. That was, after all, only a _little_ more extreme than he had expected.

Next, Mike rocked his head around horizontally while flapping his arms in a silly dance. Chica stared, with a quizzical look in her eyes. A moment later, she mimicked Mike's movements, flailing about in a ridiculous fashion. Mike couldn't help but laugh; Chica seemed to suppress a smile. The cameras went dark very suddenly.

Mike sat helpessly in his chair, listening for movement. He heard footsteps grow closer. When the stomping sound grew close, he slammed the door on his right. Chica's leering face filled the window, visible even in the darkness. Mike stared back, unblinking, for what seemed to be an eternity. Slowly, Chica drifted away into the black shroud of the unlit room. Heavy footsteps faded into the distance.

Mike let out a gasp of relief. A moment later, he noticed a muffled sound; it was as if someone was sobbing from far away. Mike then remembered his phone, discarded in the corner; he picked it up and listened.

“Mike? Mikey, are you there? Just tell me you're okay. Fucking _tell me you're okay!_ Please.” Mike sighed; he should have grabbed his phone and hung up a long time ago. “I'm okay, Allie. I'm going to make it.” He couldn't resist adding: “Welcome to the Freddy's Pizzeria experience!” Allie barked out a short laugh. “Fuck you, Mike! You got me.” Mike had nothing else to say; he hung up. Time: 5:58 AM. Power: 0%.

Everything went dark. Even the lights in the security room had failed; Mike sat alone in the void. After a moment, he heard a noise: The tinkly sound of a music box that he had heard before. After a long moment of darkness and strange music, Mike saw a face in the room. Its metal teeth seemed to glow white; its tiny white eyes nearly blinded him with their intensity. Mike sat in his chair helplessly, petrified, as the lights crept closer.

Just as the white teeth and eyes had nearly reached him, a familiar sound rang out. It was 6 AM. Mike had survived another shift. The daytime power supply was switched on, and Freddy himself was illuminated in front of Mike. The security guard made a juvenile farting noise as he raised a middle finger to the bear. He then sprung from his chair and charged towards the kitchen. Chica stood in the center of the room, staring at Mike. “It's been real, Chica! Good luck next time!” The chicken's blank expression warped into a scowl.

Freddie was gone when Mike passed through the security room. He kept moving towards the front of the store, until he saw Bonnie in the back room with the disembodied heads. “Yeah, _fuck you!_ ” Mike shouted. “You fucking _failed_ , Bonnie! You can't do sh-” Bonnie's hand was around his throat in a split second. Mike's feet flailed as he was raised off the ground. He gagged and struggled as he looked into Bonnie's glaring eyes. _Oh god, I fucked up._ Only a second before he would have lost consciousness, Mike was dropped to the ground.

Coughing, gagging, Mike clumsily found his footing and stood up. Bonnie hadn't left; the machine-monster stared down at his tender, vulnerable prey. With great apprehension, Mike crept around the monster. After a few moments of terrified stumbling, Mike made it to the Dining Room. He swerved past confused day-shift employees as he staggered outside into the sunlight.

 

 


	3. Having Fun Yet?

**I Met A Bear Today**

**Chapter 3**

The road was a blur. It was all Mike could do to follow the hazy white lines on the road and not swerve into a tree. He paced himself from one stoplight to the next, either barely braking in time or stopping well before he should have. What should have been a 15 minute drive became a 45 minute gauntlet; it was miracle that he wasn't pulled over or killed. 

After an eternity of distant flashing lights and blurry road markings, Mike found himself parked nearly sideways in the spot outside of his apartment. Stumbling out of his car and landing on his feet felt like an achievement. A slim, pale woman with jet black hair paced back and forth in the parking lot, and then froze as she saw him.

Mike staggered out into the dim light just before sunrise. Even at 7 AM, winter held back the sunlight here. Allie rushed to Mike and hugged him, sobbing and squealing in hysterics. “I don't even know what I heard back there, Mike! What the fuck happened?”

The corners of Mike's eyes went black one moment, and were clear the next. He couldn't give a coherent response as he staggered upstairs. The two crashed through the front door into the living room of Mike's rotting apartment. After he caught his breath, Mike spoke: “It was...  _ exciting _ ... tonight...”

“Exciting? Yeah, I bet! It sounded like you were getting butchered by those fucking things. I mean  _ Jesus Christ _ , Mike! I thought you were just jo--” Allie abruptly stopped yelling as her hands shot up to her mouth; puffy red spots under her eyes and the streaks of fresh tears peeked out from behind her hands.

Mike was too dazed and exhausted to be confused. “What.” She didn't respond. In the corner of his eye, between blackouts, Mike saw a tall mirror leaning against the wall. In it, he saw the reflection of a slim, brown-skinned man with a neck absolutely covered with the swollen, purple blotches of severe bruising.  _ Bonnie... Bonnie fucked me up bad. _

The broken man collapsed onto the couch. Allie was at his side in an instant. “Can you breathe? What do we do?! Fucking tell me what to do, Mike!” He forced out a slow response. “It's... fine... just let me... catch... my...” The room went dark. Everything was silent.

Mike regained consciousness some time later, with an inconsolable Allison standing above him. He hacked and coughed as he stood up, waving her away as she fretted over him. “I'm fine,” He choked out. “It's just been a rough night.” Mike's stomach rumbled, distracting him. “I, uh... I don't think I ate yesterday.” Allie was incredulous. “You just forgot to eat anything? At all?” Mike shrugged. He said, “Well, I  _ did _ have breakfast...”

Allie's glare could light a match from across the room. In a split second, she was gone; a few clatters and bangs could be heard from the kitchen. Every sharp crashing sound made Mike jump; every time he blinked, Chica stared back at him. After around five minutes, Allie had returned. She carried a plate holding a hastily-cooked but well-seasoned steak with a side of turnip greens, with diced turnips mixed in.

Mike took a happy break from speaking as he dove into the food. The next few minutes were filled with the clacking of a fork and knife and the sloppy chewing sound of a starving man going to war with a decent meal. Allie stared onward, concerned. A minute or so later, the plate was clean. “Thanks,” Mike mumbled.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Sometimes they looked at each other; most of the time, they didn't. Mike eventually broke into small talk. “How do you keep getting here this early? Did Jonny give you a ride?”

Allie rolled her eyes at the question. “The buses go 24 hours around here. Me and Jonny got in a fight again; he thinks I'm fucking you right in front of him.”

Mike sighed. “You know he's a mess, dude.”

Allie was quick to change the subject. “So, these animatronic things are... alive, basically? Are they all different, or are they all just rabid?” Mike thought for a moment, then answered.

“They're individuals. They have personalities. On top of that, they seem to understand and help each other.”

“First, there's Bonnie the Bunny. He has a girly name, and it seems like he's compensating for it. Bonnie is the aggressive one; you heard him breaking in when you called. He's tall; like 7'12'' tall. He's covered in grimy-ass purple fur and he shakes when he gets excited. His eyes are almost always wide open, and they shine in the dark. He has this bent-up snout coming out of his face that makes him just look  _ wrong _ . I started some shit with him earlier, and he choked me within an inch of my life. Uh, my fault, honestly.”

Allie shuddered at Mike's side, still listening. The fear and empathy in her eyes melted him, but he continued. “Next, there's Chica the Chicken. She's more laid back for a, uh, fucking monster. Seems like she jumps in and out of the hunt whenever she feels like it. I joked around with her a little bit last night.” Allie couldn't wrap her head around that. Mike explained that They could pierce the cameras and see him, and that he used that to play with them occasionally. She stared back at him, incredulous.

Mike continued: “Chica has shaggy yellow fur and a big bib that says “LET'S EAT!” in big letters. She spends a lot of the time knocking things around in the kitchen, which implies she wants to stay in-character as the 'foodie' or something. She has a big-ass beak, big-ass teeth, and big-ass eyes like Bonnie.”

“After them, there's Freddy Fazbear himself. I am _positive_ that he's running this whole show, but he barely ever moves. Earlier last night, though, he just... he teleported, or something. He fucking blasted across the store to talk to me. Scariest shit that's ever happened to anybody.”

Allie had to interrupt. “He talked to you?!”

Mike explained the situation, pulling out the still-full flasks of gasoline. Allie looked dumbstruck before, but her expression now was a new level of horror. “How the hell did you keep it together all night?”

Mike shrugged. “I don't know, you just... you get into it. You know what the danger is, and you know how to fight it. Aside from the earlier security guards, I don't think anyone in human history's ever seen anything like this. I'm a complete badass at something that nobody else can even _understand_ , Allie.”

She was none too pleased with that. She asked, “What about the earlier guards? What happened to them?”

Mike was quick to answer, with a morbid kind of pride in his voice: “Dead. They didn't make it, probably not even as far as I have. One guy recorded a lot of messages to help out the next guards; I guess he actually made it out of there.”

The horror on Allie's face did not subside. “Are you really going to get yourself killed for this bullshit job?”

Mike laughed, but it was too much force for his nearly-broken throat to handle; he coughed, which only made it burn more. After taking a moment to balance himself, Mike answered. “...No. I'm good at this. I'm  _ great _ at this, Allie. I don't know how to explain to you the feeling of just  _ beating _ these guys at their own fucked up game, one night after another.”

She didn't look pleased, but she didn't say anything. Mike kept rambling. “There's one more, though; I think it's supposed to be a fox. It just hides in one room, away from the band. Seems like looking at it scares it away. But if I don't keep an eye on it, then the fucking thing will stampede straight to my office. I barely kept it out last night.”

Allie was furious. “So if all this shit is trying to kill you, and you  _ know _ that they're just going to keep trying to kill you, why do you keep going back?” Mike knew that was coming, but he still didn't know how to answer it. 

Instead, he countered: “What about you? Why do you date psychos that try to control your life and get violent when you don't obey them? How many times have you shown up at my door with black eyes and hand prints from where somebody's choked the living shit out of you?”

Hot, angry tears spilled out of Allison's eyes as she glared at Mike. “What, you mean like  _ your  _ neck? Oh wait, I forgot; you're better than me. You're allowed to do stupid shit to yourself and then talk down to people who were just trying to help you.” She was up and at the door. “Fuck you, Mike.” She was gone a second later.

Mike sat alone on a ratty couch in a room with filthy, stained walls. Knowing that nobody was here to see him now, he let himself curl up into a ball and suffer.  _ You fucked up, Mike. Your best friend for the last five years stayed up all night worrying about you, and you just HAD to start shit with her. Great job, asshole. _

The man's self-resentment couldn't keep him going forever, though; he eventually collapsed on the couch and fell asleep. It was 1 PM when he reluctantly woke up, still hating himself. He had work to do today, though; Neil was a fucking mess at the moment and Mike had to do something. Mostly to help Neil, but he knew he was partly doing it to validate his selfish need to feel like a hero.

Neil answered his phone call, and showed up an hour later. Mike was happy to see him. “Welcome to the non-party, man! My buddy Jameson feels neglected, and there's probably some mixers around here that feel neglected too.” Neil laughed and picked out a soda bottle in the fridge. Mike made him a drink, then mixed himself a whiskey-and-apple-juice, solely because he hadn't ever done that before. It was slightly better than disgusting.

The two got comfortable in Mike's room, and he poured out five points of Molly on the table between them. Neil scraped three points together, ate it all at once, and took a drink. Mike downed the other two, and semi-suffered through another gulp of his drink; He'd had worse, obviously. The two talked, joked, laughed, and bickered for hours.

Mike said, “So I get back from work yesterday, right? After dealing with weird robots walking around and...” Neil stopped him there.

“Bullshit, they walk around?” Mike just stared at him. Neil let out a surprised chuckle and motioned for him to continue.

“So after I get home from that shit, I'm doing that fake review job I told you about, and I decide to watch some TV while I do it. Guess what was on Showtime.”

“What?”

“Fucking _Night At The Museum._ ”

Neil moved a lot when he laughed; he rocked back and forth, stood up, paced back and forth, then dropped back down on the bed. He slapped Mike on the arm, still laughing. The two went on joking as they rolled further away from the realities of their lives.

Around 4 PM, Mike went for it. He knew that MDMA could work as a truth serum; happy feelings became  _ incredible _ feelings, and sad feelings became  _ good enough _ feelings. Happy people were drawn to the drug for the  _ incredible  _ feelings, while sad people came for the  _ good enough _ feelings. Mike finally asked, “Why do you cut yourself, Neil?”

The man sat up straight, staring at Mike. “Oh that's easy, MTV told me to and I just started going to town. Is this what you brought me over for?”

Mike laughed. “God damn it, MTV. I didn't call you over to fucking patronize you, man. I just want to know what it's like. What  _ is _ it like?”

Neil was quiet for a moment; Not because of reluctance, Mike observed, but to work out how to articulate his response. “Shitty feelings like fear, stress, sadness and all that just build up, man.” Neil leaned forward with the mild excitement of a man sharing obscure knowledge about something rarely asked about. “It all ends up leading to a pain. After that pain, the feeling is over. And if you have a razor or a knife, you can decide when that pain happens.”

“Cutting is the end. All that bad shit that was going on? It's over after you cut.” Mike nodded along to his explanation. It was hard to stay focused; Molly is not the serious man's drug. Mike also knew the physical effects; just about every sensation became wonderful. He didn't roll often-- he knew every kind of hazardous chemical that went into it-- but the times he did indulge always started with him bending down and touching his toes. An action that stung and burned when he was sober became nearly orgasmic when he was rolling; he could only imagine how cutting on Molly felt.

“You roll before you cut though, right? Some of the time, at least.” This time, Neil was hesitant. “Some of the time,” he conceded. Mike was still on the warpath, and he wasn't turning down.

“And when you roll and cut yourself, you're feeling more good shit than bad shit. Doesn't even accomplish anything, does it?” Mike stared his friend down. “You're indulging yourself. Chopping yourself up for the novelty of the experience, when you know that you're just fucking yourself up.” Neil was still silent. “What happens to the people who care about you when you cut yourself, Neil?” Mike's stare pierced through the man. He finally spoke up.

“Fuck, Mike. You know I'm bipolar. I feel shit that I can't handle. When a bad phase happens, the best I can do is survive it.” Mike nodded in understanding.

Mike responded: “But you know that awful shit's manufactured, don't you? It's just the disorder feeding thoughts to you. I've known other bipolar people, and I've read up on it; people can learn how to catch the artificial shit in their heads and throw it out.”

Neil was quiet again. After a moment, he said, “You know it's not that easy. I just... I can't even trust my brain, Mike. This thing sabotages you.”

Mike nodded. “And it's _good_ at it, but people have found ways to fight it. Bipolar people can manage without any scars, without any rushes to the ER, without all of this shit.” He wasn't done. “I get the appeal of cutting, man. Making problems just disappear-- I'd love to have that power. But you know that you're hurting yourself, you're hurting me, and you're hurting everyone else.” Neil stared back at Mike, angry; nobody liked being called out, especially when it's about something they were born with. Despite that, the rage in his eyes eventually subsided. His shoulders drooped as he calmed down. Mike was right.

“Fuck, okay. I'll get my shit together. I'm sorry, Mike.” Neil's friend nodded to him again.

Mike said, “So we've got that Lifetime Original Movie shit out of the way and we've got at least another six hours of this roll. We're not wasting it sitting in a shit-hole like this.” The two downed their drinks quickly and stepped out into the sunlight.

As they wandered aimlessly, Neil spoke up: “So I wasn't sure about asking earlier, but, uh... What the whole hell happened to your neck?” _Oh, shit._ His throat still burned when he spoke, but Mike had forgotten how clearly visible the bruise was. He didn't get in trouble often; as such, he didn't have any experience with hiding injuries.

_Neil can't know the truth._ Mike wanted to open up about it, and the “ _Everything's fine forever, go for it_ ” effect was going strong after two points and a shot. Still, Mike knew that the progress he had made with Neil would be undone instantly if he knew that Mike danced with death itself every night-- for no good reason, even. “It was just an accident at work,” Mike explained.

“Uh huh.”

Dead silence.

“Just an accident, right, Mike? Just tripped and fell on a fuckin' noose?”

_Oh, fuck me._ “Alright, shit. It's just embarrassing.” Mike made up the story as we went along: “I got real bored at work last night and walked out of the office. The rabbit-looking one was out there wandering around-- Yeah, it's weird-- and I just started fucking with it.”

They had stopped on the sidewalk outside of the nearby park. Neil was enthralled in the story. “So it's walking around and doing the whole animatronic thing, right? Like...” Mike moved his arms in jerky, robotic motions as he swayed back and forth. “And I'm stupid and bored, so I pretend it's fighting me. I'm ducking under its arms and slapping it, and shit like that, when it spins right back around and surprises me. Fucker's hand clapped me right in the throat.”

Neil was bent over, laughing his lungs out. “So you're just, you're just fuckin', just sitting there choking after a giant bunny karate chopped you?” Mike shrugged and nodded, trying to look embarrassed. “Fucking incredible. You look terrible.”

Mike laughed a sarcastic “Thanks,” at Neil, and they wandered into the park. He didn't feel right about lying to Neil after he was so open about his problems. It gnawed at him while he pretended to listen to Neil's Molly-fueled rambling. _You did what you had to._ Mike didn't ask himself if he was going back again. _It's been half of the first week_ , he thought. _Can't stop so soon._

Mike was on the road at 10:30 PM. There weren't many cars on the road; he had the whole highway to himself. Hozier's silky voice flowed out of the radio speakers.

_“♫ I was born sick, but I love it; command me to be well. ♫”_

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Freddy's Pizza was empty at 10:47 PM. The closing shift was nowhere to be seen, and the only sound in the Dining Room was the mechanical whirring of the Fazbear Band's gears. They ignored the security guard. On the counter of the service kiosk at the side of the room was a note: It was written in elegant cursive and signed by Arianna.

“Mike! I got the note from the boss, and I just wanted to say that we really appreciate you taking over the last of the closing duties before your shift.”  _What the hell?_ The next sentence made everything come together. “In case you weren't sure, these are all the jobs that need to be done before Free Roam activates at midnight:”

_Tonight's going to be Armageddon._ Mike turned to the Band and raised an accusing finger. First he pointed to Freddy; after a few seconds of further thought, he pointed at Chica. “Chica. This was your idea.” The band ignored him. Mike suddenly became aware of the sound of the wall's clock ticking. 

Mike started with what was closest-- the Dining Room. The plastic tablecloths on the massive tables were cleaned, along with the chairs. It took far too long; children are truly disgusting eaters. Mike felt strange remembering that children ever  _go_ here; Daytime Freddy's Pizza was an alien concept to him. He started cleaning the bathrooms at 11:13 PM.

Organizing the storage room to the right of the security room was next on the list, but Mike saved it for last.  _Can't be too fucked up in there, can it?_ He had just started disassembling the pizza make-line in the kitchen when he heard a rumble from the direction of the dining room. Mike froze instantly; if they charged him now, he would never make it to his office in time. Nothing happened, however, and the time he spent panicking was wasted. Mike began to compulsively check his phone's clock every few minutes. The make-line was cleaned and reassembled, and the pots and pans filling the kitchen were stacked and organized. It was 11:46 PM.

Mike was stunned when he walked into to storage room. It looked as if  _someone_ had knocked over a shelf full of office supplies, plastic plates, silverware, etc. onto the floor, and then shuffled the spilled boxes around. He checked his clock again-- 11:51. He flinched as he heard a low-pitched, roaring laugh in the distance. 

Mike cursed in paragraphs as he slammed the shelf back into place, scanned the labels to see where everything goes, and started tossing things into their proper places. In his panicked, desperate rush, Mike sent boxes tumbling back to the ground again and again. His hands were shaking violently, and the time before midnight struck was bleeding out. Half the shelf was stocked. He didn't have time to check his phone.

The helplessly shivering man had the last four boxes in his hand when he heard a loud chime. He'd never heard an alarm to announce midnight here before, but he knew what it meant. He yelped and slammed a box into its section; the last three were fumbled into random places on the shelf. He heard the sound of stomping feet getting much, much closer as he leap into the Security Office. He slammed the door behind him first, then lunged across the tiny room and crashed into the other door button. In his haste, he accidentally hit the LIGHT button on the left side of the office. Bonnie was illuminated, staring at its prey through the window.

The creature's eyes were bloodshot; tiny pupils were highlighted by thin red veins snaking toward the edges of Bonnie's massive, shining eyes. His fur was wet, matted down here and there. The tip of his snout was wet as well, capping the top of Bonnie's gaping jaws with a shiny black dot. Mike saw all of this in passing, shocked by all of it, but that was not what shook him to his core.

The glass in front of Bonnie's mouth had fogged up.

Mike shut off the lights and collapsed into the security chair.  _I was right. Tonight is the night that they get tired of my shit and kill me. Why did I play along with the closing bullshit?_ He peeked over the monitor in front of him and looked at the generator: 89%. Time: 12:05. That deep, terrible laugh rang out again.

Checking the lights, he saw that the storage room was empty.  _I know Chica was close, though. I know it._ He released the door on his right, and checked for Bonnie again. He was gone; the fog on the window was not. Releasing the door, Mike settled behind the cameras. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang.

A familiar voice blared out of the phone's speaker. “ Uh, hello? Hey, you're doing great! Most people don’t last this long. I mean, you know, they usually move on to other things by now. Um, I'm not implying that they died! That’s not what I meant. “

Phone Guy was bordering on 'completely useless noise' at this point. Mike began to reach for the MUTE CALL button as the nameless voice continued: "Anyway, I better not take up too much of your time; things start getting  _ real _ tonight." _ You don't fucking say.  _ Mike hit the mute button, silencing the rambling voice as he checked the cam _ FREDDY WAS GONE. _

Mike checked every camera; the footsteps he heard were nearby, but not in killing range. He had time to search. Chica was outside the storage room; Her bulging, bloodshot eyes seemed to have three layers of irises now. Two rows of jagged metal teeth gaped from her maw. The beak was curved into a cruel grin.  _ LET'S EAT! _

Bonnie was in the hallway two rooms away on Mike's left side. He stood in the shadows behind a flickering light; his silhouette was barely visible, but Mike knew he was there. He flicked through the feeds again, desperately searching for Freddy, and found something else. The curtains in Pirate Cove were thrown wide open, and the fox was gone; a sign in front of the stage read, “IT'S ME!”

_ Fuck!  _ Mike jumped up and punched the DOOR button. The massive slab of metal crashed downward-- and stopped halfway. A bulky purple-furred hand, with onyx-colored claws shining in the dim light, held it open. A second later, Mike saw a flash of crimson as the fox slammed into Bonnie, launching both of them away from the door.  _ Once that monster starts, it doesn't care what it kills _ . The door slowly lifted up.

The sound of three simultaneous wars and at least one plane crash rang out from the darkness outside. Mike recoiled away from the open doorway, reflexively checking the lights on the other side. Chica was here. Huge eyes carrying blue, green, pink and a warped beak weighed down by too many grotesque teeth dominated Mike's vision. Chica didn't look at him, though; she looked past him. She only acknowledged him when the door on her side slammed shut.

The width of the door muffled the sound that she made. Chica shrieked at him again--  _**“LIGHTS!”** _ It was a shrill, terrible noise that left Mike's ears ringing. He reacted without thinking; the lights illuminating Chica went out, and the lights on the other side went on. 

The fox was on top of Bonnie, slashing downwards again and again with a thick hook attached to the end of its right arm. Chunks of its outer suit were missing, revealing a narrow endoskeleton below. Bonnie's idea of a right hook seemed to be more effective; the fox was launched across the break room, shattering the coffee pot that it landed on.

The fox sprang back into the battle, snapping its razor jaws down on Bonnie's shoulder. Bonnie rammed into the wall behind his opponent, forcing the fox's jaws open again. The mangled thing fell to the ground; Bonnie lifted it, slammed its head into the wall again, and threw it down in front of Mike.

The fox's neck was in the doorway, held still by Bonnie's massive foot. Mike looked up at the creature towering over him; the stench of sweat, filth, and oil overwhelmed him. Bonnie spoke; the noise struck the halfway point between 'metal grinding against metal' and 'the roar of an angry lion'.  **“DOOR.”**

Again, Mike obeyed. He slapped the button, and a flat-edged guillotine blasted down on a neck that suddenly seemed so, so small. Mike was left alone in a room, both doors shut, with the severed head of a metal demon at his feet. The fox's head was mutilated; its cheeks were bent in two different directions, with large craters beside them. Its snout was caved in; the two jaws were bent inward into a pincer shape. Triangular teeth, alternating between silver and gold, littered the floor. The fox was well and truly dead.

The concept of death reminded Mike to check the generator; 54%. He hastily pulled his phone out and checked the time: 1:31 AM. He wasn't a mathematician, but this equation still looked entirely fucked.  _ There's no way out of this. I am dying tonight _ . 

Mike was partly drawn out of his despair by the sound of metal scraping against tile. Bonnie stomped away, dragging a corpse behind it. Even if he was doomed, Mike had to keep trying.  _ Escaping death is the only reason you keep coming back, after all. _

Mike checked to be sure that it was safe, then released the doors.  _ Fuck finding Freddy, I need to calm down and just WAIT.  _ It was quiet for some time at Freddy's Pizza. Absolutely silent, in fact; Mike couldn't hear a single footstep. Around ten minutes passed before the music started.

Freddy's music box tune sounded out from somewhere to Mike's right-- too far away to be an immediate threat. Fazbear was just setting the mood. Mike heard a creak to his left and shot to the lights; nothing was there. Another few minutes passed quietly. Time: 1:49 AM. Power: 49%.

The stampede began without warning. Mike burst from his chair in shock, barely able to hit the doors before at _least_ two titans crashed into them. The screams of hell itself surrounded him, happily accompanied by the tinkling music. Mike checked the cameras; he needed to at least see Freddy in action before he died. He flicked from one camera to another searching for the bear. Finally, just outside of the storage room, Mike saw a pair of needle-thin white pupils shining from the shadows in the corner. Freddy's glinting eyes somehow conveyed his sick pleasure.

Bonnie and Chica were still ramming the doors and showing no signs of stopping soon. The generator wheezed under the pressure of keeping everything functioning.  _ Well, fuck it. _ Mike peered into the cameras, to have one last look at his deathbed. In the middle of the dining room, someone stood on that bed.

The figure wore a black hoodie and a ski mask. They stood frozen as they listened to the strange banging and pounding in the distance. Suddenly, that banging noise stopped. Mike looked up from the screen; everything was quiet again. Gazing down at the human burglar, Mike asked himself:  _ What the fuck do I do about this?  _ He wasn't given time to answer.

Two large, hairy hands grasped Mike's shoulders. “ _ Would you look at that. _ ” Freddie's pseudo-friendly voice rang out above a fragile, helpless creature. The monster leaned down over Mike's shoulder, staring into the camera feed. 

Mike wanted to ask:  _ How?  _ His voice and his body failed him. His helplessness was absolute. Freddie spoke again: “ _ You're the security guard, Mr. Schmidt. This is your call. What will you do? _ ”

He knew the meaning behind the question: the animatronics knew he was a dead man if things stayed on track. He was being asked if he would sacrifice a stranger to save himself.

He came to a conclusion more quickly than he could forgive himself for.

“Grab him. Don't kill him yet,” Mike whispered. Freddie held still for a moment; he stared down at the brittle, flawed creature before him. “ _ So be it, _ ” Fazbear said. “ _ Open the doors. _ ” The steel barriers slid upward; Chica stepped into the room, confused. Bonnie was gone; he appeared on the cameras a second later, tackling and restraining the stranger. A massive hand pulled Mike out of his chair. “ _ Lead the way. _ ”

The walk down to the Dining Room was unbearably slow. Chica's hot breath brushed against the back of Mike's neck as she trailed behind him. She stretched her neck forward, staring at the man's beaten throat.  **“** Poor thing.” Her voice sounded familiar.

The three entered the wide room hearing squeals and shouts from the burglar. The stranger stopped struggling when he saw Mike. “Tell me what the fuck is going on, man!  _ Help me! _ ”

Mike stared back at him. He tried to speak, and once again his voice failed. Bonnie's chainsaw voice roared out again.  **“TORSO'S MINE. FIGHT FOR THE REST.”** Chica's grin nearly split her head in half as she crept towards her prey. A word gave her pause. “Stop.”

Everyone in the room turned to face Mike; he felt Freddy's searing gaze on the back of his head. “He didn't know what he was walking into. We have to give him a chance.” Fazbear was at his side in an instant. The giant slung an arm around Mike's shoulders.  _ “Elaborate.” _

Mike's voice nearly shook too much to be coherent. “We will...  _ You _ will--” Freddy interrupted him.  _ “WE will.” _ Mike gathered his wits, then continued. “ _ We... _ will put him in my office. Tell him how it works, stand back for a minute, and start the game. If he makes it to 6 AM, he lives.” 

The excitement of the monsters drowned out the horror of the humans. The violent pleasure in Bonnie's ravenous eyes burned into Mike's soul. The shaken man looked at the doomed stranger; a dark stain covered the middle of his jeans. Freddy whispered into Mike's ear:  _ “Gas can's in the broom closet. Go.”  _

Mike heard whimpering behind him as he half walked, half ran from the Dining Room. His thoughts kept up with him.  _ You just killed someone. You killed someone so you wouldn't have to face the consequences of your own fucking stupid decisions.  _ Mike found the gas can and filled up the Security Office generator. Freddie came in soon after, pushing the stranger into Mike's chair. Fazbear then stared at Mike, waiting.

“The monitor in front of you shows the camera feed to every major room in the building,” Mike explained coldly. He could barely contain his disgust for himself. “There's blind spots outside of this room; use the lights to check those. If one of them is outside, hit the door button.” The stranger stared hard at Mike. “Don't leave me here, man. Please don't leave me here.” Mike stared back at him. “Watch the display on the generator; if you use up all of your power, you'll be helpless.” He turned and left as quickly as he could.

Freddie found Mike vomiting in the middle of the Back Room; he waited for the coward to finish and notice his presence.  _ “Clean that up.”  _ Fazbear walked back to the stage as Mike gasped for breath. 

Staggering to the Broom Closet, Mike grabbed a mop and a bucket. After closing the door, he saw a silhouette behind the flickering light of the hallway between him and the Back Room. The only way was forward; the stranger, panicking, had slammed the door to the security room. Mike crept toward Bonnie's quivering mass.

The stench of sweat and hate brought tears to Mike's eyes from ten feet away. Only Bonnie's eyes were clearly visible from the shadows. Mike's shoulder collided with Bonnie's arm as he passed; the monster did not move. The sound of Bonnie's shallow gasps of breath filled the corridor. Mike slowly, carefully moved on. The sting of absolute terror pierced the man as he waited for the monster behind him to strike. Mike made it to the Back Room alive.

He noticed the endoskeleton again as he cleaned up his mess. “Well, what's it gonna be, robot? You got some shit to say, too?” The endoskeleton did not react; it wasn't alive, like the others. Time passed quietly; the silence was interrupted periodically by the sounds of footsteps and the stranger's whimpering. Mike checked his phone; 2:45 AM. The night was _almost_ halfway over.

He reached Pirate Cove on his way back. Mike stared at the limp, headless body thrown on stage, behind open curtains. A sign in front read, “SORRY! Out of order.” It was a sad sight; a strange, isolated creature was killed and carelessly thrown back into its lonely home. The tall shadow behind Mike announced Freddy's presence.

“He was different from the rest of you, wasn't he?” Mike asked. Freddy Fazbear stepped forward, stopping at Mike's side.

“ _ He has no interest in men. He just kills them, _ ” The bear explained. Mike turned and stared at him, disturbed.

“ _ Just _ kills them? What about women?”

Freddy was quiet for a long moment, staring down at the broken creature at his feet. After some time, he spoke. “ _ He disgusts me. _ ” The bear turned and left the room; Mike was quick to follow.

He caught up with Fazbear backstage. The creature looked down to meet his gaze; the pinpoint lights in the center of Freddy's eye sockets were as unnerving as ever. Fazbear's deep laugh was deafening at such a short distance.  _ “Didn't even need to put you in a suit, did we?” _ he said, still chuckling.  _ “You're already one of us.”  _

It shook Mike to his core, but he stood his ground. He tried to confront the monster; he wanted to know what Freddy really was, and he wanted to know why the demon did this to people. Mike opened his mouth, but no words came to the rescue. 

Freddy stared down at the weakling for only a moment before waving Mike away. “ _ Go check on your victim. See how he likes the job _ .” Mike fled from the bear, his gaze locked to the floor.

He followed the sounds of crashing and banging to the kitchen. Mike saw Chica in the center of the room, simply flinging pots and pans over her shoulder. The noise was unbearable; thankfully, she stopped when she saw Mike. “Having fun yet?” Mike stared hard into the creature's wild eyes as he asked the accusing question. 

“You're Arianna, aren't you?”

Chica's laughter echoed off the walls; her brutal jaws gleefully snapped open and closed. “I like to talk to my food, I guess!” She said, with her signature giggle. Mike was dumbstruck, despite his suspicions. Unmoved, the demon bird flung the pans she was holding in random directions and moved toward the Security Office.

Mike followed; words finally came back to him. “How's he doing?”

Chica turned, her vibrant eyes engulfing the man's vision, and whispered back to him; “Bad. He's doing  _ real _ bad, Mikey.” Mike looked over her shoulder; the security door was shut, far sooner than it should have been. He stepped past the monster in front of him. A greasy yellow hand stopped him.

“Try to help him and we'll kill both of you.”

Mike reluctantly stepped away from the room guarding the stranger. He turned to leave and heard Chica call out to him as he left: “And I saw you staring at my ass the other day!” Mike moved much faster away from the creature.

He found himself in the Dining Room a minute later; Freddy's eyes glinted from the shadows in front of him.  _ “Why did you play along with the note?” _ The monster asked. Mike stopped in front of him. “Are you seriously ask--” Fazbear interrupted him.  _ “Is it safe to not answer me?”  _ Mike's gaze shot straight to the floor. His answer came a moment later. “I, uh.”

Freddy drank in the painful silence as Mike hesitated, savoring every second.

“I didn't want to get fired,” Mike answered, still staring hard at the ground. The Laugh erupting from Freddy's mouth wasn't getting any less unnerving.

Mike then realized something: he was still rolling on Molly. He'd been too terrified to notice before, but the drug hadn't worn off yet. It didn't _usually_ make him hallucinate, but hey; he made this shit in a bathtub.

“Freddy... Is any of this real?” Mike asked the fucking seven foot tall maybe-mechanical, maybe-biological murderous demon in front of him. Freddy smiled down at him, refusing to answer.

The conversation was cut short by a howl from the other side of the building; the generator cut out at the same time, and the building had turned pitch black. Mike sprinted to the Security room, while Freddy casually strolled behind him. 

The harvest had already started when Mike arrived; the stranger's head had been pulled back with such force that his neck was ripped open. Bonnie, standing behind the human, bent over and bit down on the center of the stranger's torso. Thrusting his head upward, he pulled a massive chunk of skin, meat and bone out of the gasping, nearly-dead body. Bonnie went down for seconds, and then thirds. Chica knelt at the stranger's side, chewing on his dismembered arm. Mike heard a  _ splash _ as he stepped in the wide pool of blood flooding the office.

Freddie's grip stopped Mike as he tried to turn away from the scene. He forced his eyes shut; a large finger tapped him on the side of the head. _Message received_ ; there was no escaping this. For at least ten minutes, Mike watched the Fazbear Band devour the remains of an unlucky man. He gagged, but nothing came; he had vomited as much as he could already.

Eventually, a cheerful ring played out of the phone's speakers. It was 6 AM, and there was blood everywhere. Freddy slapped Mike on the back. “ _We'll clean up, best friend. You go home and get some sleep_.” Mike stood his ground; he stuttered out a protest.

“N-none of this makes any sense, though. The recording said that--” Freddie interrupted him. Phone Guy's voice spilled out of the titan's grinning mouth: “I lied to you, Mike. About everything. The store's rules don't matter; Only mine do. Now, I told you to _leave_.”

Freddy didn't laugh as Mike fled from the room; his glare on the back of Mike's head was enough. The morning crew stared at the broken man stomping past them into the fresh air outside.

 


	4. Bat into Hell

**I Met A Bear Today**

**Chapter 4**

Mike sluggishly unlocked the door and stepped into his apartment, immediately collapsing onto the couch. He sat there lifelessly for some time, then looked about the room. Allie wasn't here for him this time. The pain of unwanted emotions filled Mike's chest. He knew he wouldn't be able to look any of his friends in the eye after last night, but he couldn't stand to be trapped alone with his thoughts.

_He would have died anyway._ Mike told himself it was true, but the thought didn't console him.  _Even if you had never taken the job, Bonnie would have eaten him._ He couldn't get the noise out of his head; the sound of the burglar desperately gasping for breath through a torn-open throat. It was a wet sound; the raging torrent of blood had muffled the man's helpless choking. The crunching sound of Chica's metal jaws splintering the bone between them had echoed off the Security Office's walls.

Mike  _might_ have blinked four times in the following hour as he sat frozen on the couch. Eventually, he found the strength to stand up;  _After all,_ he thought to himself,  _I've never needed a shower more than I do now._ He felt dirty as he walked to the bathroom. The stranger's blood hadn't spilled on him, and yet he felt it congeal over every inch of his skin. Mike stepped into the ice cold water; unsatisfied by the freezing sting, he turned the heat all the way up. The pain was unbearable. He stood his ground. Mike boiled himself for ten minutes, scrubbing himself with a bar of soap and pretending it cleaned the blood off.

When the punishment of extreme temperatures became dull, Mike turned off the the shower and scraped himself dry with a dirty towel. Through the fog on the bathroom mirror, Mike saw that his skin had turned bright red. He staggered into the bedroom, grimacing at the moldy-socks smell of it, and dressed himself. His thoughts drifted to the stockpile of Molly in the closet.

_Should I?_ Mike tasted sarcasm in his mouth as he asked himself the question.  _But what about all that sleep I was going to get today?_ A moment later, he was snorting three points of bad-coping-mechanism off of a dusty end table.  _That was meaningless,_ the harrowed man thought to himself.  _But at least I did something to cope. Right?_ Aside from putting a gun in his mouth, he had done all he could to punish himself for the events of the previous night.

Mike shuffled back into the living room and dropped himself back on the couch. The next two hours were uneventful; Mike stared at the wall in front of him and the burglar's face, still covered by a ski mask, stared back. _You sentenced him to death without even seeing his face._ The guilt trip moved at a glacial pace until a loud sound interrupted the silence. The front door burst open, sending splinters of shattered wood flying. A familiar man walked in.

Jonny was a goliath of a man; his wide-shouldered body was a vague blend of fat and muscle. Coarse blonde hair covered his arms, matching the thick mane of dirty blonde hair on his head. The light color was contrasted by a black Affliction tank top and dark blue jeans.

Mike was at his feet in an instant, incredulous. “You  _kicked_ the fucking _door_ in?!” Jonny ignored him, asking his own question: “Where the fuck is Allie, worm?” Mike continued for a moment longer. “You  _KICKED_ . My  _FUCKING DOOR_ ... What? What happened with Allie?” Both of them were quiet for a moment, staring each other down.

_Worm? Really?_ Mike spoke again: “Who the fuck uses 'worm' as an insult, anyway? You're a grown man. Just call people assholes.” The MDMA distracted him from the gravity of the situation. Jonny stepped forward, and the drug-induced haze cleared.

The blonde man's response was a punch toward the face. Mike, however, had plenty of experience dealing with explosive people; he ducked, and responded with a sharp uppercut. Jonny staggered three feet backward, then lunged again. This time, he didn't miss. Mike's head left a crater in the cheap plaster wall behind him, and he fell back onto the couch.

Jonny raised his foot and began stomping down on Mike. After two or three hits, a straight kick to the knee interrupted the blonde animal. Mike launched himself at the intruder, slamming a tightly-clinched fist into the brute's face. Mike noticed that Jonny's pupils were rapidly vibrating; he was rolling too.  _Probably on my shit, even._

Jonny turned the tables quickly; he grabbed Mike by the back of the neck and slammed his head into the hardwood floor. The blonde lunatic was on top of Mike in an instant, pummeling him until Mike's forearms shot up and caught Jonny's neck in a vice-grip. Spit rained down on Mike as his opponent gagged for air. Jonny pulled himself back, still choking, and raised an elbow above his target's head.

Mike didn't remember the elbow coming down; he only remembered waking up alone on the floor. Mike turned his head to look for the intruder, but was interrupted by a strong sensation coming from the center of his face. He knew it was supposed to be pain; but Molly was good at filtering that feeling. Staggering back to the bathroom, he looked into the mirror and saw that his nose had been destroyed. Blood covered the bottom half of his face, and a huge black eye covered the left half of the top. Taking advantage of his distorted pain threshold, Mike snapped his nose back into place. It hurt, kind of.

Reaching for his phone, Mike called Allison's number. After ringing six times, a recorded voice told him that her voice-mail box was full.  _Shit_ . He called Neil and Paul; they arrived a few minutes later. 

Paul stomped in with bad, bad thoughts in his eyes: “Where does he live? We'll fix him,  _then_ find your friend.” Mike shook his head. “Jonny's out looking for her. We need to get there first.” The three ran downstairs and jumped into Neil's van. A few minutes later, they arrived at the electronics store Allie worked at.

“Allie? Yeah, she just left. Said she was feeling sick, or something.” The girl at the register shrank before the three angry men. They stomped back into the parking lot. A red sedan blasted out into the street in front of them.

“ _Fuck,_ that's him!” Mike shouted, as they sprinted to the van.

Neil drove like a demon; their red target spent an hour driving in wide circles, failing to lose them. On a secluded access road, Neil spoke up. “Fun fact: I don't even care about this van,” He said as he scraped the paint off of the left side of Jonny's car. The half-red, half silver jalopy sped ahead of them in a panic.

They caught up to Jonny's car a few minutes later. Neil stuck close to the bastard until he came to a stop-- outside of Mike's apartment. Allie stumbled out of the car, and Jonny sped away. Mike and his friends jumped out of the van and ran to her; she was in even worse shape than Mike. Two black eyes, a flattened nose, and at least a liter of blood covered Allie's face. She stumbled as he pulled her up; tears mixed with blood and dripped from her chin.

All Mike could do was bring her up to the apartment and try to patch her up. Every step up to the apartment was interrupted by his fantasies of butchering Jonny. Paul spoke up about finding the psychopath that did this; Mike interrupted, telling him Jonny's address. Paul and Neil were gone in an instant. Once again, Mike and Allison were alone.

Allie stared at the floor. “All of this is my fault. You shouldn't be helping me.” A quiet moment passed before Mike responded.

He didn't try too hard to console her. “I'm helping you because you're my best friend. But yes, it's your fault for getting involved with another psycho fuck-up.” She was silent.

Time passed. Allie's bleeding had stopped, and Mike's medication had dulled the blade of fury pushing out of him. The two sat in the living room, refusing to look at each other. Mike spoke first. “Why do you keep doing this, Allie?”

She hesitated before she answered. “I don't know.”

Mike kept pushing. “Think of something. At least tell me  _something_ .” Allison still avoided his gaze, looking at the wall Mike's head hadn't broken. “It's just... it's just the  _passion_ . I've dated decent people, and it was just stagnant bullshit. Nothing would ever happen. There weren't any feelings there.”

Mike nodded in understanding, then spoke again: “But there's passionate people out there that aren't evil. They're just rare. You don't have any reason to subject yourself to this; dating a violent shitlord isn't better than nothing.”

Allie was still quiet for a moment, before she gave in. “I guess. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, Mike. I don't think I've ever met someone who knows what they're doing.”

Her best friend laughed at that. “I'm not an exception,” Mike said. Allie turned to him; she smiled for the first time since their fight yesterday.

“So are you going to take this opportunity to seduce me, or not?” She asked with exaggerated coyness.

Mike laughed. “Nope! I love you, Allie, but fuck you.”

She laughed. “You're so  _romantic_ .”

The two talked and laughed; for a moment, they could forget all the terrible things in their lives.

Nail and Paul returned around an hour after they had left. Paul carried in a white box and placed it by the TV. “Jonny wasn't there, but his Xbox One was. Let's fire it up!” The two went to work setting the device up. Allie leaned toward Mike and asked, “Who are these two?”

Mike didn't have the willpower to lie to her. He told her about the “ _Day Job_ ,” and introduced the two as his dealers. Dumbfounded, Allie asked: “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

Mike didn't hesitate to respond. “I knew that Jonny was an addict. If he found out I was cooking this, he would use you to get free supply from me.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I think you're right.”

Mike stood up and moved to the kitchen. Peeking into the freezer, he saw a bottle of cheap tequila. He opened the fridge and pulled out the usual mixers. A moment later, he noticed Allie had followed him into the kitchen. “I know you went back to Freddy's last night,” She said. “What happened?”

Both of them fidgeted in the silence. After a moment, Mike looked hard into her eyes: “Nothing.  _Nothing_ happened.” He tried to walk back into the living room, but Allie intercepted him. 

“Bullshit. I want to know what happened.” Allie's gaze was ferocious at first, but she began to fidget as Mike stared hard back at her.

“They tried to kill me. Bashed the doors for nearly an hour straight, until a burglar broke in.”

Allie gave him a stunned look, her mouth agape. Mike continued.

“Freddy told me to choose which of us would die... He was ashamed of me, Allie. I don't know what he hoped I would be. He was the only one who didn't eat the corpse.” Mike's voice nearly shook too much to be coherent. Allie was whiter than paper, with blue veins clearly visible on her face. A bead of sweat cut a path down from her forehead. She was quick to turn and leave.

Mike took a long drink before shuffling back into the living room. His two dealers were bickering with each other on the couch. Apparently, they had lost interest in the gaming console; its shattered remains littered a corner of the room.

“Where are we gonna find this cocksucker, boss? Me and Neil will sort this out before midnight.” Neil nodded at Mike with fire in his eyes. Mike grabbed his friends by the shoulders. “I'm glad you two are here for me. But I'm going do deal with this myself. Jonny is fucked.”

Paul wasn't satisfied. “He already kicked your ass, Mike! No disrespect, man, but  _look at a god damn mirror_ ! I can fuck this guy up for you, and I'm going to.”

Mike shook his head. “Don't worry about him; I've got a plan. I've got a few...  _friends_ than can help me with this.”

Neil cut in: “Yes. You do. You're looking at them. Don't let your pride fuck this up for you, Mike. Drop the cryptic shit and let us work with you on this.”

Mike wanted to tell them everything, but he didn't know how. They would laugh. They would hate him. “I know what I'm doing. I'm depending on you two to look out for Allie tonight. I'll tell you how things went when I get back in the morning.”

Paul looked angry, but he turned away and sat back down next to Neil. Mike returned to the couch, and Allie sat next to him a minute later. The four were silent, pretending to watch TV together. Neil was kind enough to change the channel occasionally. The room was cold.

After some time, Mike turned to the lady at his left. A question had been burning in him all day. “Why did Jonny bring you here?” Allison hesitated before she stuttered out a response. “He...He, uh... Shit, Mike. He told me he was dumping his 'leftovers' at my 'new boyfriend's place'.” Mike growled. He already knew what he was going to do; his conscience wasn't trying too hard to stop him. He stood up, told his friends to stay safe, then walked out the door. Their curses and protests bounced off his back as he left.

10:55 PM. Mike sliced down the highway toward Freddy's Pizza like a bat into hell. Dark thoughts caught up to him:  _You killed someone yesterday, Mike. For your own convenience._ He did his best to ignore it as he drove forward.  _Can you really do it again? Even if your victim deserves it this time?_

Weaving between the few cars in his way, he arrived at the store quickly. Mike entered the restaurant and saw that the closing crew was once again missing; he didn't care. Mike's gaze shot toward the Fazbear band, quietly going through the motions on stage. He saw Freddy pause as the monster saw him; Fazbear's eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he was playing along with Bonnie and Chica again like nothing happened.

Mike walked up to the animatronics, stopping only a foot away from them. Each of them could reach out and strangle him from this distance. Bonnie's hand twitched; it had already crossed his pitch-black mind.

“Listen to me, Freddy.” The band ignored him. “I didn't want to come back here, but something happened.” The mechanical sound of gears whirring filled the room as the Fazbear band followed their programmed animations. Mike spoke again: “I need your help, Freddy.” Three heads spun to face Mike as the animatronic facade was abandoned.

 


	5. Final Chapter

Mike was suffocating. His office barely had room to fit one human, let alone one human and three malevolent giants. Freddy Fazbear stood front and center in the room, with his head brushing against the ceiling. He grasped one hand around his other wrist in front of him, gazing down at the squirming human before him. Bonnie leaned against the open doorway on Mike's left; his wide body seemed to curl unnaturally to fit in the threshold. Chica hung from the right doorway, grasping the sides and stretching her arms as she leaned in. She seemed to fidget more than the others, unable to stand still for too long. Her errant twitching drew Mike's gaze back to her every time he looked away. The animatronics seemed content to stare at Mike until anything better happened. A few minutes after midnight, the phone rang and a recording started.

“Hello, hello? Hey! Hey, wow, day 4. I knew you could do it,” One of Freddy's voices said through the speaker. “Uh, hey, listen, I may not be around to send you a message tomorrow.” The sound of a fist banging on a steel door interrupted the voice. “It's... It's been a bad night here for me.” Mike pressed the MUTE CALL button. The recording continued, spilling directly out of Freddy's mouth.

“Um, I-I'm kinda glad that I recorded my messages for you... uh, when I did. Uh, hey, do me a favor--“ The muffled noise of steel crashing violently against steel sounded alien coming out of Freddy's mouth. 'Phone Guy' had terror in his shaking voice. “--Maybe sometime, uh, you could check inside those suits in the back room?”

Chica's giggly voice interrupted the recording; she seemed to exaggerate the girlish, outgoing sound of Arianna to disturb Mike. “This one's _always_ been my favorite!”

Bonnie cut in with his usual grinding howl, deafening his human guest: **“NEXT ONE'S BETTER.”**

Freddy stopped his 'performance' and responded with Phone Guy's voice; the transition from terror to small-talk was abrupt. “Night five was better. Shame that every guard that hears it dies.”

Mike's skin crawled. The monsters that had haunted him for days were just _hanging out_ around him; not ignoring him, but casually accepting his presence. He remembered what Freddy had said the night before. _You're already one of us._ The thought shook him to his core. Mike pushed himself to create a barrier between him and the demons. “What's the point?” He challenged Freddy. “Why make the recordings?”

Freddy didn't hesitate to answer. “The first few guards were helpless. They panicked when we started moving, and got themselves killed on the first night. Didn't even have time to enjoy the game.”

Chica continued the boss' explanation with her usual cheer. “It was my idea, actually! We tell the food how to play before we start. After that, we had some real challengers. Still didn't take us too seriously until we broke in, though.”

Mike looked toward Bonnie. The beast stared back, silent. In that quiet moment, Mike noticed that they were machines again; metal joints poked out from beneath their synthetic fur, and none of them drew breath. Mike shuddered again; not an uncommon event in his Molly-fueled state. His surroundings felt surreal to him; but this wasn't the first time he felt like an explorer discovering a strange tear in reality. The chemical mess had made it easier for him to accept insane circumstances.

Freddy didn't seem to notice Mike's foolishness as he finished Chica's explanation. “The contenders didn't believe that a bunch of ragged machines would literally eat them, though. They needed to understand the danger in a way that really struck them. I came up with the concept of lifeless robots just trying to 'enforce the rules.' It's worked like a charm for twenty-six years.” There was pride in the bear's voice.

Mike was quiet, still vaguely enjoying the sensation of simply being awake as he listened to the monster. “So 'The Bite of '87', was that--”

Fazbear interrupted him. “This isn't a big tell-all, Mike. We're not here to be interrogated, we're here to kill someone. Where is he?”

Mike's gaze reflexively hit the floor, then moved up to the monitor in front of him. Every room the cameras spied on was empty. “He's coming. After what I said to him, he can't _not_ come.” Mike had called Jonny after getting the animatronics to cooperate; he had attacked every fiber of the bastard's manhood, and dared him to settle things here. Jonny was a selfish, arrogant creature; he wouldn't ignore a challenge to his masculinity. Mike was sure to add some fabricated stories of how much Allie loved cheating on her wretched boyfriend.

It was 1:13 AM already, though; _where is he_? “He will come,” Mike insisted. “ There's no way he's gonna miss his, uh, surprise party.”

Chica shrugged. “Or maybe not,” She said; her previous cheer was absent. “We're getting fed either way.”

Mike shuddered again, and the tingling sensation brought him away from the nightmare. His eyes wandered around the room as the animatronics made small talk above him. He froze still as his eyes met a coffee pot in the break room. It was perfectly intact, with all of its unsightly stains in their proper places. Mike's eyes darted left and right, scanning the entire room. There was none of the stranger's blood anywhere; blood could be cleaned, sure, but the floor was covered in the dust and grime that Mike had become accustomed to. It had clearly not been mopped in weeks, if not months. There were no scratches on the doors or the windows after they had been punished so much this week; the office looked as if nothing had ever, ever happened in here.

Reality was already distant to Mike in his embarrassingly slanted state. These observations, however, pushed Mike entirely away from the world and into a storm. All he could do for several minutes was shiver, stare, and try to balance himself. A harsh voice grounded him in an instant. “Are you high?”

Mike's head shot upward, meeting the burning gaze of Freddy Fazbear. The boss repeated himself. “Mike, are you _high_ right now?!”

The fool's voice shook. “I needed something to keep me...um.” Freddy didn't savor the man's hesitation this time. He dismissed it with an angry step forward. Mike continued, in a panicked voice: “I needed something to keep me together.”

Freddy's massive, hairy palm shot up to his massive, hairy forehead. “Good _Lord_ , Schmidt. I thought you were serious about this! I thought you were _sane_! You just go in here, get a man killed, go home and just--” His long arms were thrust into the air-- out of the corner of his eye, Mike might have seen Bonnie flinch. Fazbear's voice shook the walls. “--Just _party all day_ and come back here to _kill someone else_ because he was _mean to your friend._ I thought you were at least _almost_ a normal--”

Mike was out of his seat in an instant, furious. “You don't know what this is like! I'm not a monster like you, Fazbear! I'm not built to handle this!”

Freddy took another step forward as his minions looked on. “Then why did you come back?” Mike was speechless. The bear leaned in close and broke the silence. “You and I are going to speak before this night is over. Either after we kill your... _target_ , or before we kill you.” He leaned in even closer, pushing Mike's head backward with a wide, black nose. “Is that _understood_ , Mr. Schmidt?”

Mike somehow pulled it together enough to return his gaze. “Why do you care? Why are we suddenly fucking friends?”

Freddy shrugged; it was a harsh movement, radiating anger. That anger filled the room, stinging Mike and forcing him to recoil. Fazbear spoke: “You're interesting, Mike. This week's been different for us, believe it or not.” He cracked a wide smile, and it seemed to extinguish some of his fury. “I'd like for you to learn something from this, but I haven't eaten all week. I'm not committed to sparing you.” The room was silent again.

After several quiet minutes of confusion and anxiety, Mike's sluggish gaze drifted to the monitor in front of him. The camera feed showed a large man shuffling through the dining room. He nearly jumped back out of the chair in excitement, gripping the animatronics' attention, and then took a closer look.

It wasn't Jonny.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

A tall, muscular man stood awkwardly in the center of Freddy's Pizzeria. He walked slowly, using his phone as a flashlight. Paul froze as he heard a familiar voice screaming in the distance. _“STOP! THAT'S NOT HIM! FREDDY, MAKE HIM STOP!”_

Paul was more concerned than afraid. Something was going on back there; he'd sort it out. Easy. He advanced toward the doorway leading to the back of the building, but something stopped him before he rounded the corner. An overwhelming stench of sweat and animal musk staggered him, and it took effort to push forward and into the Back Room.

What stood in front of him-- no, _above_ him-- was a great purple mass, with a thick coat of greasy fur. The beast's snout stretched out six inches further than it had any reason to; its mouth was lined with far more jagged teeth than any natural creature would ever need. Light brown saliva shone in the dim light as it dripped from the monster's open jaws. Thick, greenish-gray mucus crawled downward from the outer corners of Bonnie's gaping, glowing eyes.

Paul's body reacted before his mind did; a cross-punch to the torso launched the creature into a wall six feet behind it faster than Paul could release the “What the _fuck_!” from his mouth. The monster sprung back at him in an instant, and his counter-attack couldn't stop it. A large dining table snapped under him as he crashed to the ground, more than a few yards away from his attacker. Bonnie lunged at him amid the splintered debris.

He was on top of the demon in an instant; fists urged forward by terror, rage and desperation hailed down on its misshapen head. Paul vaguely noticed that he was screaming as he kept smashing his enemy's face apart. A sharp sting to his side quieted him; he barely noticed that he was now flying across the room. The wall did not greet him kindly.

Slumped into a pile of suffering in the corner, Paul checked the damage. He led a fighter's life; with his experience, he could identify exactly four bruised ribs-- one in the middle was cracked, but not broken. This fight was over, and he didn't even know what hit him. A wide yellow face, highlighted by colorfully insane eyes, was quick to answer that question.

'Agony' did not properly describe the experience of being hauled across the building on the shoulder of the bird-like creature. It seemed to enthusiastically bounce with each footstep purely to make it more painful for the man. Their journey ended after an eternity of suffering; Paul was dropped into a cheap metal chair in front of an old monitor that he could barely see through the haze of pain. Looking around, Paul saw a colossal brown monster brushing against the eight-foot high ceiling above him. Next to the bear was his good friend, Mike Schmidt. Mike was beside himself with emotion.

“ _FUCK_! What were you _thinking_ , Paul? Why did you come here?” Paul stared back at his boss. Too much had happened too soon; he did his best to focus on Mike, and not the chaos surrounding them.

“Jonny... Would've... Fucked you up.” Paul's voice slurred as he responded. Mike's fury broke through the haze.

“Jonny would've been fucking _butchered_ if he showed up! There's still time for him to show up and _die_! All of this would have been fine without you wandering in here, for god's sake!” The night guard paced around the room as he shouted, often stumbling into the unmoving body of the massive creature sharing the tiny room with them. It stared at Paul, unblinking. After a long moment, it spoke.

“You know where the gas can is.” Mike did not hesitate as he scurried out of the room. Paul was locked in a bleak staring contest with the creature once Mike left. It let the silence hang for a long minute before it spoke in a cold, deadpan voice. “You're going to be fun, aren't you?”

The generator in the corner of the room was quickly refilled when Mike returned. He stared down at Paul, shaking, with tears beginning to form in his eyes. “They're going to make you play a game with them. You sit in here, watch the cameras and the lights. Drop the doors if they get close. If they get inside, they will eat you,” Mike explained, his voice quaking.

Paul responded with a blank stare: “Bull- _shit._ These fucking robot- _thing_ s don't eat people, dude.” Mike answered Paul's disbelief by glancing at the bear; it shrugged, with a smug look in its eye.

“Take my word for it,” Mike said. “You need to keep them out. If you use too much power on the cameras, lights, and doors; then this generator will die and so will you. Please don't waste power, Paul. We can both walk out of here if you make it till 6.” Mike was stuttering and shaking violently now. Paul kept still, trying to make sense of the situation. It wasn't easy to accept. The bear grabbed Mike by the back of his shirt, then carried him away into the darkness like a dog carrying its puppy. Paul was alone. Power: 99%. Time: 12:01 AM. _That can't be right._ Paul checked his phone, knowing he arrived at half past midnight. Time: 12:02 AM.

Mike wiped the tears from his eyes as Freddy dropped him in the middle of the Back Room and returned to his seat at the stage. The scrawny human stumbled often as he walked aimlessly through the corridors. He tumbled into a wall eventually, and something caught his eye.

A child's drawing was tacked to the wall. “MY DAY OF FUN!” was printed at the top of the stationery, and the figures of a blonde child and a friendly purple bunny were drawn in crayon below it. The rough, colorful lines squirmed and pulsated; a fine mist of yellow and purple swirls drifted into the air as the paper exhaled. Crayon Bonnie returned Mike's gaze with a smile. Everything here was alive. Everything wanted to see blood tonight.

_Molly definitely doesn't do this._ Mike was a stranger in an even stranger realm. Freddy's Pizza had always been surreal, but any respect Fazbear had for reality was gone now. It was going to be a long night. Mike checked his phone: 12:03 AM. _That's just spiteful._

A harrowed man wandered through corridors that shifted colors around him and squirmed beneath him. Mike came to a stop once he saw something familiar: purple curtains decorated with white stars. A sign on his left read, “IT'S ME!” Between the open curtains was Foxy's decapitated body. Resting on the creature's mangled neck was a human head concealed by a ski mask.

“This is what it felt like to me.” The Stranger spoke with a lip-less mouth, his bloodstained teeth sneering at Mike. Empty eye sockets glared behind eyelids split roughly down the middle. Bare muscle and tendons could be seen in the eye and mouth holes of the ski mask. Mike refused to avert his gaze.

“I did what I had to.”

The Stranger smiled at that. “That's the butcher's mantra. Solve the problem with someone else's pain. _You did what you had to_.” Mike now struggled to return his victim's gaze. He moved toward the exit. “You can't escape me,” The Stranger shouted behind him. “You can't wash me off your hands!”

Mike found Bonnie in the Dining Room. The table before the beast had been split in two; both halves writhed in agony. Wooden splinters clattered about uselessly on a tile floor that couldn't decide what color it was. The rabbit towering over the insanity was closest thing to a friendly face that Mike had seen in a while. He advanced toward the demon. “Go easy on Paul. He doesn't know what he's doing.”

Bonnie spoke-- machines grinding themselves to death; predators roaring at helpless prey; defiant creatures screaming back-- His voice was clear. **“I WILL DRINK THE BILE FROM YOU.”**

Mike found himself shrunk in a corner; he felt like he belonged there more than anywhere else in the room. “...Good talk, Bonnie. See you.” The monster left, likely headed for the Security Office. Another presence filled the room soon after. Mike stood up straight and looked Freddy Fazbear in the eye. Words did not immediately come to him.

Freddy's thin white pupils surrounded by pitch black irises once again peered into Mike's soul. He blasted Phone Guy's voice out loudly. “You are in my house, Mike. Do you understand that?” The man nodded weakly. “Come here.”

The bear's colossal frame consumed Mike's field of vision as he followed him behind the Stage's curtains. The coward jumped as he saw a hairy yellow mass with a face weighed down by its own malice. It was a bear, too; it had shining gold fur and dark eye sockets, containing nothing. With a sudden twitch of the head, Golden Freddy gestured to the empty seat directly in front of it. Freddy himself lowered himself in a chair beside his hollow twin.

The frail man could not defy the monster. Mike sat down, his gaze lingering on the shining, soulless vessel in front of him. Golden Freddy's head moved slightly, following Mike as he moved. It became motionless again as Mike shrunk into his chair. Freddy spoke. “How many people have been hurt since you started this, Mike?”

He couldn't meet Fazbear's gaze, but he knew better than to stay silent. “Two,” he answered, before rethinking his response. “Three, including me.” Freddy nodded.

“Three. You wanted it to be four.”

“...Yes.”

“Is this right? Is this what you are?” Freddy stared down at the suddenly confused man.

“N-no, this is just... It's complicated.”

“Correct. Elaborate.”

Mike stared at the floor as he responded. “I've never been as afraid for myself as I have working here. I know that you're...um. Evil.”

“Correct.”

“But something about this just... captivated me. Fending off demons all night, and surviving. Life just seems simpler when your problems have bodies and faces. Simpler when you can just shut a door on them. It's a lot simpler here. I think that anyone who made it past the first night would come back at least one more time.”

Freddy's laugh filled the room, once again making Mike quiver. “You're right about that. Almost every guard that survived the first night came back.”

Mike looked up at him. “I don't know why we all do this, though. I knew from the start that all of you were out to kill me, and that... it just brought me back, even though I knew how fucked up it was.”

Freddy smiled down at him. “It's natural for your kind. You think you're smart, but you're addicted to doing stupid things. You cherish your worst mistakes.” Mike was still for a moment, but after a few seconds he nodded; shame dragged his body downward.

“What are you?” The man asked a moment later. Freddy sat up straight, and more than a little bit of pride filled his voice as he answered.

“I am danger, Mike. I am harm. I am that dark impulse that leads people to find what will kill them and fall in love with it. The smart ones resist me; the rest die sooner than they should.”

Mike was silent for a time, digesting Freddy's response. A shrill screech, echoing from the back of the building, broke him out of the trance. The scream ended shortly after Mike had leapt from his chair. There was a flash of yellow before his eyes, and a crushing grip on his shoulder. Mike was sitting motionless again.

“Your friend is alive,” Freddy said, smirking at something Mike didn't understand. “Stop fidgeting.” Mike failed to.

After another quiet moment, he asked: “Why haven't you killed me yet?” Bellowing laughter echoed off the distant walls of the Dining Room, louder than before.

Freddy gazed upon Mike for a time before answering. “Because I like you. I don't know why, to be honest; but it's something about the fun you have with the forces you know will kill you. Those moments when you resonate with monsters, but still resist them. But even though you resist, you keep coming back. You're indulging yourself, Mike. You're hurting yourself, and you're hurting others.”

The man nodded slowly. “You're right. This is fucking stupid, Freddy. Everything that's happening right now is stupid.” Freddy nodded back to him, smiling, and then gestured toward the yellow-furred monster beside it.

“Look at it, Mike. Take it all in.” Mike obeyed; Golden Freddy was an empty suit. Its exterior was vibrant; its dull gold hair still held a shine in the dim light, and it easily drew in Mike's attention. In fact, it seemed to thrive on it. His gaze drifted toward the thing's eye sockets.

A black void was visible behind the golden hair; there wasn't air and dust inside. The core of the empty suit was absolute nothingness. Mike was entranced as he stared into the endless void. The suit's mouth drooped downward, warped into a scowl. The void was visible behind its golden lips.

Freddy spoke once again. “This is one of your futures. This creature is what you will be if you never learn to defy your impulses. Glamorous and _so_ dramatic on the surface; but inside, it is a terrible, empty thing. There's room to fill it for a moment, but the abyss is never sated. Is this the future that you want?”

Mike answered quickly. “Fuck that. No.” With some difficulty, his eyes moved to meet Freddy's gaze.

The bear smiled at him. “What future would you prefer, then?”

He thought for a moment before he answered. “I want a stable life, but not a boring one. I want to take risks, but I'm not trying to ruin myself.”

The Laugh did not make Mike flinch this time. Freddy sounded happy. “That's the best you can hope for. Domains like mine have nothing to offer you.” It seemed like the bear was going to continue, but the sound of a door being slammed open interrupted him.

Mike jumped to his feet and burst through the curtains; Neither of the bears stopped him this time. He saw the source instantly. A large man, with a body of half muscle, half fat, had broken through the front door. Jonny glared at Mike, with violence in his eyes. That violence warped into shock as Freddy spoke, emerging from the stage. “Well, now. Tonight's been eventful, hasn't it?”

Chica arrived in an instant, grabbing Jonny around his barrel chest and launching him into the middle of the room. Desperately springing to his feet, the blonde madman found himself staring into Bonnie's eyes. A frail man's voice cut the tense silence. “Wait.” All heads turned to him. “Paul's had a real bad night,” Mike explained. “Let him start the show.” Freddy nodded his consent, and Mike charged towards the Security Office.

Paul looked paler than Mike had ever seen. He quickly grabbed the man's arm and pulled it over his shoulders. “Jonny's here.”

The tall man laughed loudly, then grunted in pain. “Oh, fuck yes. Let me at him,” He said. Mike looked back at him, glancing from his ribs to his face.

“You're fucked up, Paul. You should sit this one out, but I won't stop you if you want to fight him.” Paul laughed again, louder this time.

“Break my legs and put me in a wheelchair, Mike. I'll fuck him up anyway. Did you hear the purple one screaming?”

“Yeah, what happened?”

A smile covered Paul's face. “He got into the room. I kicked his ass out.”

They couldn't stop laughing until they reached the crowded Dining Room. “What's it gonna be?” Mike asked. Paul didn't answer; instead, he pulled his arm off of Mike's shoulder and limped toward Jonny. “What the _fuck_ is going on?” The victim screamed. He lunged as Paul came closer.

Mike stood next to Freddy as they watched the fight. The bear spoke as they admired Paul's third punch connecting with Jonny's face. “If you ever come back here, I will kill you myself. Slowly.”

Mike nodded in understanding. “This is the end, Fazbear. We're done with this soap opera shit.” Freddy laughed again.

“Best soap opera _ever_.” Mike slung his arm around the monster's shoulders as they watched a broken man pummel a strong man into the ground. Chica and Bonnie whooped and hollered as they enjoyed the show.

Several minutes later, Paul ran out of fury. He dropped to the ground next to Jonny, clutching his side and whimpering. “That was a mistake. That was a big fuckin' mistake.” Bonnie pat him on the back as he and Chica lifted the bloody mess named Jonny off the ground. He was carried behind the curtains; the sound of harsh winds could be heard as Bonnie and Chica left the boy with Golden Freddy.

“What's the point? What did you gain from doing this to him?” Mike stared into the distance as he shaped an answer.

“Spite? I don't know. He deserved it, but I didn't need to do this.” Fazbear nodded, content with his human's answer.

“You're right. Your whole goal tonight was pointless. You know that you're not a hero, bringing judgment to the wicked.” Mike gave his evil friend a wistful smile.

“I guess not. But fuck, that was fun to watch.” The Laugh made Paul flinch and then squirm in pain on the cold tile floor. “It's time for me to leave, isn't it?” Freddy answered by turning his head to the wall on the left. Mike obediently followed suit, and saw sunlight suddenly push through the blinds on the windows. With a simple glance, Freddy brought daytime back to his strange world.

“Six AM, Mr. Schmidt. Get some sleep.”

Mike nodded and moved toward Paul, tenderly helping him to his feet.

“Let's get the fuck out of here,” Paul said quietly. Mike slung him around his shoulder once more, and looked back at Freddy.

“Well,” Mike said, with a shaking voice, “I'll miss you guys. I'm never going to forget this.” The cackling of the animatronics was deafening, with Freddy's crushing noise dominating the others. After the laughter died down, Freddy spoke.

“Get the hell off my property.”  
  



End file.
